Dissonance
by GrayBones
Summary: Something's up with Soul, but Maka's investigation into the issue only stirs up feelings they'd both prefer stay buried. A tad angsty. Eventual Fluff. Always a bit of plot...maybe more plot as I go. I tend to follow that rabbit down and down and... SoulXMaka.
1. Discord

**I'd love to own Soul Eater, but sadly I do not. Probs be maturish later on. I hope it's only the slightest of AU until I can wrangle it into submission, and I try so hard not to OOC anyone but...it happens. Forgive me?  
**

**I tend to edit as I go and post in fits and starts. I use italics _when I have no idea how else to express myself. _**

**I still don't like this beginning. Everything is always a WIP. **

**Reviews/favorites/followers are yummy! Like souls! Nom, nom. **

* * *

The first time it happened, they were fighting. Everything always happened while they were fighting.

Maka noticed it with the first singing arc of Soul's blade body as it cut a path through the demon Nosferatu's flesh—a freckled, bile-yellow pile of flesh with two eyes on stalks and at least seven, maybe 10, tentacles with razor-sharp spines.

She normally felt almost no hesitation. Soul was the youngest Death Scythe in recorded history and she was the youngest Meister ever to wield such a weapon, ever to _make_ such a weapon. Demons, ghosts, animatronic clowns—there was a lot in her world to be afraid of, but on most days, she wasn't.

They were demon hunters. _They_ were the ones to be feared. _Badasses_, that's what Soul called them. Badasses were never afraid.

But their attacks this time weren't getting deep enough. Soul's weapon form was powerful but still only metal. A slice was a scratch. Every time the sharp edge of his blade went in, the demon's skin just oozed whole again, yellow blood spilling in pools and flying through the air as it struck out at Maka again.

Nosferatu laughed, a blast of foul air and a sound like bones crunching. Maka gagged.

"We need Resonance!" She gripped Soul tighter and rolled as Nosferatu lunged and the earth beneath its body rippled like the surface of a pond.

"What? You mean you can't defeat this slime ball on your own?" The one red eye on Soul's scythe body regarded her dubiously. She twisted him around and glared in his face…er blade. She supposed it was his face. She never thought to ask.

"Not the time!"

Even their lowest Resonance rate, aptly named Witch Hunter, could make short work of this thing. She reached out for Soul's wavelength, the unique aura of energy he carried, expecting the pulsating rush of it to hit her immediately. Instead she felt something strange—a pinprick of worry tickling her spine.

The budding connection fizzled out like a match.

"Soul, what's-"

Nosferatu screamed. A tentacle hurtled toward her, spines grazing her cheek. She ducked, rolling painfully on a sore knee to the left and felt the air from a second arm as it went for her gut.

There it was again—that tickle—a niggling, twisting, panicky sort of…doubt?

She pushed through it, demanding the connection anyway. If it was Soul holding them back, he'd better have a darn good explanation. As it was, she could practically force him into Resonance if she wanted to. Her wavelength was manipulative in that way. It would take a particularly strong-willed weapon to resist the call once she made it.

"Get your lazy butt in gear! Soul Resonance!" She cried.

And there it was—that heady rush of blood and adrenaline through her veins, a full-body vibration like a shock wave through her nervous system, and something without name that felt familiar and warm and strong, something she could only describe as Soul himself, his essence, all pouring into her.

"Witch Hunter!" She screamed as another yellow tentacle reached for her.

::Maka, move your feet, you idiot!:: Soul cried, his reflection snapping at her from the Scythe's blade. She listened, dodging the wet grinding slap of the thing; its blades left inch-thick gouges in the cobblestone street.

"Nice of you to join me," she grumbled.

::Pay attention!:: He snapped as she narrowly dodged a second limb.

"Yeah. I got this now." She raised her weapon, feeling the curving blade of him hum pleasantly through her gloves as it expanded with their Resonating wavelengths, doubling and tripling in size.

It was hard to think of Soul's weapon form as him even though she knew it was. His Resonating form, on the other hand, was the manifestation of their partnership, of the strongest parts of their souls—a twin-bladed scythe with all the glow of a full moon able to cleave whole pre-Kishin in half with barely a tap. It was deadly, horrifying, and beautiful.

The blade touched her shoulder gently, a nudge from an impatient finger. She could see the white blue light of it reflected in the puddles beneath her feet. In the water it looked broken, twisted, wrong. Not today. Together they were strong. She'd never let him break.

She swung.

* * *

The demon blood was like paint—thick, yellow, greasy, paint. Luckily it didn't smell. It did, however, sting like hell. Each and every cut and scrape was burning and it was all Maka could do not to fall into an impressively girly heap and cry. A glob of the stuff was slowly dripping its way down one pigtail and the sight nearly made her lose her breakfast doughnut.

Soul transformed back into his human body to look at her, cocking one impish eyebrow and smirking. He, of course, was completely un-slimed. He had a yellowing bruise along his jaw and a nick in his eyebrow, but otherwise he looked no worse for the wear. Even his clothes—black leather jacket, jeans, and blood-red tee—were clean.

"You look like shit," he said.

She growled. At present no dictionaries or other hardbound volumes seemed to be handy, so she couldn't express her displeasure fully.

He just laughed. "Come on, tiger," he said. Making a move to ruffle her hair but stopping short of actually touching her slime-soaked head. "Let's go back to the motel and get you cleaned up."

As he turned and left her standing in that putrid puddle, Maka had the satisfying mental image of herself scooping up some of said slime, forming it into a nice snowball-shape, and hurling it at his perfectly mused white hair.

"Maka! I'm gonna kill you!"

_Oops,_ she thought with a not a small amount of glee._ Guess it wasn't just a mental image after all._

* * *

A shower, some bandages for her knuckles, and a pair of fluffy warm pajamas later, and Maka was curled up in the recliner by the window with her novel in their sparse motel room. It was past three a.m., but she'd just gotten to the good part.

"Maka, please, can I turn off the light?" Soul begged from the bed. He'd fallen into it in just his boxers (bone print), damp hair sticking up all over.

She'd asked him years ago how he got his hair to stand up like that. She'd seen the rows and rows of hairspray at BlackStar's apartment, so she knew men did, on occasion, style their hair. But Soul spent approximately seven minutes in the bathroom every morning, shower and all, so she knew he didn't have time for elaborate fussing.

_I just came out this way._

_Came out?_

_Like, I was born this way?_

_Oh._

_Yup. A baby with red eyes, shark teeth, and a massive head of this shit; surprised my mother didn't leave me on Lord Death's doorstep sooner._

He'd grinned, using one finger in the corner of his mouth to show off the rest of his impressive molars.

It was hard to believe Soul was really that naturally strange looking (he'd once joked about actual demon blood in his family tree if that was even possible) but somehow it worked for him. Enough that at 17—post the drooling stage—he'd turned into a bit of a heartthrob at the DWMA, not that he'd noticed.

"Soul to Maka! I want to sleep, damn it!"

"I'm almost done."

"I'm tired, woman."

She sighed, snapping the cover shut. Soul jerked a bit at the sound and she smiled, pleased at the thought that he might be nervous around her when she was thus armed.

"I don't see why you're so tired. You hardly did anything. I wield you, remember?"

Soul sighed deeply from his position. "I don't mean to question the Almighty Maka—hey, that sounds creepily appropriate—but anyway, you're wrong. Weapons spend all their energy amplifying their Meister's wavelength and delivering killer blows."

"And?"

"And it's a lot of frigging work."

"Ppff."

"OK. You try transforming into an inanimate yet deadly object."

"That's silly. Meisters don't have to transform. We wield."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You get all the glory while we take all the risk."

Maka swallowed. He wasn't totally wrong. He'd taken the fall for her more times than she could count. He'd nearly been gutted from one swing of Ragnorok when Crona was still under the influence of black blood. And he'd protected her from a rather deadly fall when the Kishin that lived beneath the school first awoke.

She remembered that twinge of reluctance as they merged during the fight just hours ago. It must have been from him. She certainly didn't have any hesitation. They'd Resonated a thousand times.

Maybe it was hurting him somehow and she didn't even know. It would be just like him to keep it from her just to prove how strong he was.

What did Resonance even feel like for a weapon? They'd never talked about it. Once they'd achieved it, the action had simply become an admittedly intense yet perfectly appropriate tactic to add to their arsenal. But maybe it was different for him. Maybe it felt different. Maybe it was uncomfortable to have her wavelength suddenly rocketing through him and then have to simultaneously amplify and turn that force back around (how he did it she couldn't fathom, something having to do with a weapon's innate ability to channel and harness energy) and pass it back.

"What does it feel like for you?" She asked suddenly. Soul had childishly thrown one arm over his eyes on the bed, blocking out her reading light. She couldn't make out his expression, but he seemed to tense. The muscles in his stomach twitched.

"What does what feel like?" He asked. His tone was careful, bored. She couldn't tell if she'd imagined his initial reaction or if he was just getting better at hiding things from her. Since he'd turned 17, his normal stoicism had blossomed into full-blown, completely infuriating, unaffectedness.

Oh, who was she kidding? He'd always been a pro at hiding things—the black blood infection, the madness creeping up on him. She, on the other hand, had trouble sneaking past his bedroom door with anything bordering a problem without him knowing—and demanding—that she fess up.

"If you keep spacing out like this I'm gonna tell Stein you're losing your mind. Of course, then he'll want to study you." Soul warned.

She shuddered at the thought of their teacher, a genius and an incredible fighter, but a madman nonetheless, taking a particular interest in her brain. Professor Stein's "interests" generally included but were not limited to: dissection, scalpels, painful psychological evaluations, fighting, and dissection-that one should really be listed twice.

"Nothing, never mind," she said, yawning. In truth she'd forgotten what she was even trying to figure out. Maybe she was just too tired. Back-to-back missions in this nearly frozen country had taken their toll.

Tomorrow they would learn if it was finally time to head home to Nevada and back to school. They both had classes to finish and new training. They were hardly old enough to be full-time demon hunters. She stood up, stretched, and moved to the edge of the bed.

"Scoot over," she commanded. He did, turning off the light as he did so. They could have sprung for two queens but why? They'd fallen asleep head to foot on the one ratty couch in their flat since they were 13. She slid under the covers and stretched out, feeling each muscle complain, each joint pop.

"For Death's sake, you sound like a grandma other there," Soul grumbled. It sounded like he still had his arm over his face, muffling his words.

"Like I said, I do all the work. I'm probably going to look old before my time thanks to you."

"Bah!" He snorted.

"Glad you think it's funny."

"I'm laughing at the idea of you—who still look 13 by the way—growing old overnight. Ridiculous."

She scowled and gratefully let the complete and utter darkness of their motel room hide the burn in her cheeks. She couldn't stop herself from running a hand self-consciously over her woefully underdeveloped chest. She'd fleshed out a bit since they'd first met but still occasionally received the children's menu at restaurants. The last time she'd nearly had a nuclear meltdown when the snarky Bimbo Hostess with the magnetic D-cup had asked if she'd like crayons. Said Bimbo had also blatantly flirted with Soul, and that just wouldn't fly. Soul had to be focused. He was a Death Scythe.

"Yeah, whatever. Are these the only blankets?" She pulled at the thin sheet and scratchy coverlet. Her toes were ice.

"They only gave us the one."

"But I'm freezing!"

Soul sighed dramatically and the bed shifted, as if he'd gotten up. She felt him moving around by her side of the bed, shifting things out of the way and grumbling. _What is he doing? _

"Where are you?" He asked. He grabbed for her leg in the dark, hitting much further up on her thigh than he probably, surely, intended. A completely alien shock rocketed up her spine. For a half a terrifying second, she had no idea what was going on or what he was planning.

_He wouldn't…I hope he doesn't think…_Her thoughts tangled together.

"Here." He grunted. Something warm and smelling of leather and boy hit her in the face—his jacket.

"That'll have to do." She could almost hear him smirking in the dark as he climbed back under the covers, the mattress groaned.

_Ugh._ The smell alone would drive her nuts all night. How could boys stand smelling so…so…she let herself take an experimental sniff in the dark and came away surprised. She had imagined the jacket to be more odeur d'locker room than…spicy? Like curry and a little gasoline from his motorcycle—not unpleasant—and something else unidentifiable that made her simultaneously wrinkle her nose and want to take another deep whiff; in the end she gave up trying to analyze it. _At least he didn't use cologne_, she thought of BlackStar's latest attempts at being overpowering to both olfactory and auditory systems. She covered her lower half with the jacket and sighed.

"Thanks."

"Mmhm," he mumbled, the bed rocked a bit as he rolled over again.

* * *

The second time she noticed it during training. Two weeks after returning from Denmark, Stein had called them into his lab and announced that it was time to take their Resonance to the "next scientific level."

"You two should still be progressing, yet it seems your powers have plateaued," he'd said.

His reasoning was sound. The best fighting pairs could Resonate across cities and through two-way radios, let alone while in the middle of fighting with the motivation of not being decapitated fresh in their minds. They needed to be able to push themselves, amplify their connection, intensify the readings, without adrenaline motivating it. It needed to come more naturally—like breathing.

Of course, it would have been an easier idea to wrap her head around if it hadn't been presented by a certifiably mad scientist in a room smelling of rust and formaldehyde, a single florescent light flickering overhead casting twisted shadows into the corners. She wondered if he liked living this way or if it was all some elaborate stage presentation to scare the freshmen.

Stein pushed his obnoxious spectacles further up on the bridge of his nose. "I'll need you two to practice," he said, his monotone ruined by the maniac glint in his eye. "And I'll watch."

"Now?" Maka felt slightly uncomfortable in Stein's presence already, though he was her teacher and she respected and admired him on many levels.

"You'll be graduating soon. I'd like to have all my tests complete before then."

_Tests?_ Apparently not the kind she liked, the kind that she could study for. She wiped her palms on her skirt.

"Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and monitor your heart rates and blood pressure while you work on it." He rolled himself away quickly from where they sat on two uncomfortable metal stools.

She turned to face Soul, expecting him to passively grumble or possibly swear but acquiesce. He nearly always went along with her or Stein's crazy plans unless they were downright insane (and his measuring stick for insanity was…more forgiving of late).

"No," he said, red eyes focused on Stein. He looked like a statue—a glaring, white-haired statue.

"Wha-why?" Maka squeaked. She cleared her throat. "What's wrong?" She really needed to work on being less of a girl around him.

"I'm not about to become Stein's lab rat again just for the sake of science," Soul snapped.

Stein's glasses flashed as he shifted his attention from Soul to Maka, clearly expecting her to convince him. Or maybe he was just observing their behavior. You never knew with the doc.

"Come on. It's for research," she said, poking Soul in the shoulder. His eyes darted to her for a fraction of a second and she thought she saw it again—hesitation? Nervousness? No. No way. Soul was a lot of things—blunt, uncouth, self-absorbed, antisocial—but nervous?

"I don't care. Not until Stein tells us what's so damn important about Resonating stronger than we already do."

"Where is this coming from?" She asked. "I thought you always wanted to be stronger."

"That was before I became a Death Scythe. Now I want to know what it is I'm working for. I have a right."

Stein smiled, the stitches in his face pulled in such a way that Maka felt her own skin tighten. She shivered.

"You're right, of course," Stein said flatly. "I just thought it would be obvious."

"Humor us." Soul crossed his arms over his chest.

Finally Stein nodded. "OK. If you must know, Lord Death has been asking your teachers when you might be ready for a new appointment—a permanent reassignment."

Maka's mouth went dry. Soul stiffened beside her.

"Eventually he has to assign you to a post, just like all the other Death Scythes. After all, Spirit is still his personal Death Scythe and until he retires…Of course you knew this. You also know that once you go on active duty your previous partnership will be dissolved. You may be reassigned a more experienced Meister at your new post or you may become an independent like Eric. In order to match you with prospective posts and partners, we need to know how strongly and deeply you can Resonate."

Dissolved? Maka shook her head—of course. That's what they'd been working toward for years. Soul was a Death Scythe. He should have an incredible future with or without her. She'd just hoped the _without_ wouldn't be coming so soon.

"So he wants to know if I'll jump when he says so." A muscle in Soul's jaw twitched. Maka had the sudden urge to smooth the wrinkle that had formed between his eyebrows. She stuffed her hands under her legs to keep them still.

"Partially. He also knows you two are able to connect on a very deep level. If we can figure out why, we might be able to recreate it. To do that, we must see the most extreme expression of your Resonance ability. We have to push it to the limit. Then we will test it with others."

"And what about me?" Maka asked. "What am I in all this?"

Stein turned his glinting gaze on her. "Your ability to Resonate so strongly also bodes well for your future as a four-star Meister and potential teacher at the school. I shouldn't have to say it but this _is_ a test. Pass it and you'll both have bright futures in your respective fields."

Maka's eyes ticked back to Soul. She knew—despite his strange behavior of late—that he wanted nothing more than to be the best, most powerful Death Scythe in history. If he could prove that his ability to Resonate a Meister's wavelength was uniquely strong…

"Soul, we have to." She reached out to touch his arm. He felt stiff, wound up like a rubber band a moment from snapping. He shrugged her off.

"No. We don't. At least I don't. You can stay and play with the doc if you want to. I'm gonna bail." He looked back at her calmly, stood, and walked out of the lab. Maka stared after him.

"I'm sorry, Professor Stein. I don't know what's gotten into him."

Stein wheeled his way back to her and—much to her disgust—took both her hands. She half-expected his skin to feel cold and clammy like a corpse, but he was warm and his palms were rough like any fighter's.

"Maka, I know how important Soul is to you."

"He's my partner. Of course he's important."

"But you know he has too much potential to squander it just because he's afraid."

"You think he's afraid?"

"Don't you?"

"I don't understand any of this. I don't understand why he wouldn't at least try." She felt the hot ache of tears in her throat, threatening the backs of her eyes. She blinked furiously. _You have to be strong!_

"Soul needs to learn to Resonate with others. As a Death Scythe, it is his duty. Otherwise he'll always be chained to you."

Chained? Her throat constricted. She didn't want to be the thing that held him back, the thing he used as an excuse to hide and not to try.

She dug her nails into her palms, the bright pain clearing her head, battling back the tears.

"I'll bring him back tomorrow."

"Thank you, Maka. We're counting on you."

* * *

Self-righteous. Nosey. Pig-headed. Brat.

He punctuated each thought with a vicious stir of the spoon. Granted, making curry wasn't the absolute coolest way to relieve anger, but it was his turn to cook. And hell if he was going to let Maka make him feel guilty about one more thing.

He was less angry with Stein even though it was that demented mother fucker that put the idea in her head to begin with. No, it was Maka that deserved the full force of his anger. She should know better. They were partners. She didn't own him. If he didn't want to Resonate deeper or get any further inside her damned head than that should be that. No arguments. It was him that powered their Resonance. If he didn't want to do it in front of Stein like some circus freak then he didn't have to.

He smacked the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot a little too hard. The spoon's handle snapped cleanly off, its head falling with a plop into the curry. He swore.

_Get a freaking grip, Eater_. He dug the head out of their dinner and threw it in the trash along with the rest of its decapitated body and began searching through the drawer for another spoon.

Which was why he didn't hear her come in until she was right behind him.

"Um, Soul?"

He jumped. He fucking hated that she could make him jump. _Little stalker_.

"What?" He growled. Her green eyes fell. Damn how she made him feel like the dirt under his fingernails sometimes. Maybe it was that anti-insanity thing—probably rubbed his own particular brand of crazy the wrong way.  
"Don't you think we should talk?"

He harrumphed. _No. No we should not talk,_ he grumbled internally._ We just should go back to being kick-ass partners in the demon-hunting trade and stop worrying about scary, potentially life-altering futures._

But those God damned green eyes were already reformatting his response into something more acceptable to her by the time he opened his mouth.

"Sure. Fine. Let's talk." He said through clenched teeth. He'll be damned if she didn't miss her calling as a frigging CIA interrogator.

They sat. Her spine was so straight it hurt to look at her. Soul picked at the frilly lace on the side of his apron. (Yes, _his_ apron. Long story involving BlackStar and a bet about girl's underwear—he preferred to block it out.) Of course, he'd prefer to block out the Crazy Annoying Guilt Inducing Green Eyed Walking Heartache sitting across from him too.

_Maybe I should get my own place, _he mused.

"What?!"

_Shit balls. I said that out loud, didn't I?_

"I'm just getting the feeling that you expect more from me than I can give." He bit the inside of his cheek raw. _Was that it? Really? You wanted to shrug her off because she thought you had the potential to be awesome? Lame, Eater. Even for you._

"Soul...I...I don't want you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. And I don't want to force you to be someone you're not."

_Good. That's good. Now let's drop-_

"But this isn't you." She gestured to the pathetic apron with the yellow curry stains and the apparently equally pathetic boy wearing it.

"Funny. Feels like me."

"It isn't. You're the most driven person I know besides BlackStar and BlackStar is borderline manic. You love being a weapon. You've always wanted to be the best Death Scythe ever."

"Always as in when we met when I was 13?" He snapped. Her spine caved a bit and her eyes fell. Well, good. She should be disappointed in him. He was perpetually disappointed in himself; it was pretty much part of his identity at this point.

"Look, I know you haven't pulled your bookbrain out of your own ass for more than a few hours the last few months with all the exams and getting ready for graduation, but I'm 17 now, not 13. I've changed. I want-"

He looked into her face, which—if he was being painfully honest with himself—had changed significantly over the last four years_-along with the rest of her...personage._

_Was that the right word? Fuck it, Maka would know._ _But what the hell do I want?_

Death Scythe Soul Eater. He loved the sound of it. He loved to roll it around on his tongue in the privacy of his bedroom at night, imagining himself graduating and traveling the world saving people, kicking epic demon ass and taking names. But he always imagined it all happening with _her_. Not some shadowy maybe future partner, someone else he'd have to pry open the recesses of his mind to. What if they couldn't appreciate the dark shadows and hollows and twisted songs of him like she did? What if they just didn't get his soul?

And while he was giving himself honesty pains at this moment (which were a bit like post-taco binge-eating contest pains, GoddamnitBlackStar), staring at the cracked Formica table and smelling burning curry, he'd been feeling that panicky sense of What If a lot lately. What _if_ Maka stopped liking it in there, in his head? What _if_ she saw something or felt something from him during Resonance, like, say, how very awfully much he enjoyed pouring himself into her mind, and decided he was scary? Perverted? Too messed up even for her to unscramble?

"What? What do you want?" She pleaded.

He dropped his head onto the table and sighed. "I don't fucking know."

"Then tell me this: what does Resonance feel like for you?"

His head shot up so fast he felt his brain sloshing around in his skull. "Come again?"

"It's a perfectly simple question. If it's the Resonance that's been making you hesitant lately, I should know about it. If I'm hurting you somehow-"

"It isn't." He almost wanted to smirk. How _did_ this girl manage to turn everything around and make it about something _she_ should do differently? It was _him_ that was broken, _him_ that was taking their Resonance too far into the something kinky category.

"Then tell me how it feels, Soul."

"You tell me first." How was it that his mouth decided to make words without his brain's consent? Not that his brain had any brilliant strategy for getting them out of this line of conversation either but he didn't much like being usurped...by himself. And he definitely didn't like sounding like a 13-year-old girl.

She blinked, immediately grabbing and adjusting the tie in one of her pigtails. At 16 she wore them less and less often, which he hated. He didn't want her to change and get all sophisticated and crap-giving about things like other girls.

"OK. Way to dodge the question, but fine." She closed her eyes. "And take the curry off the stove before it burns any worse."

He dove for the pot, gratefully hiding behind stirring and turning the temperature down and spooning it all into two big bowls. When he turned back around, she was still sitting with her eyes closed, a little line had appeared between her eyes.

_Damn_. She was really going all out and actually thinking about this. _Not good strategy mouth. Now we will have to come up with something equally well thought out or we're doomed._

"It feels good, I guess. It feels like..." She bit her lip in a fascinating way, eyes still closed. Why was it her mouth garnered so much of his attention lately? It wasn't like it had changed significantly. Maka Lips at age 13 were pretty much the same (give or take some lip gloss) as Maka Lips at 16. But the last few months that damned mouth had become yet another source of anxiety for the weapon, along with her legs, and sometimes her voice, and often her hair...

"Well it certainly doesn't hurt or feel uncomfortable anymore."

"Anymore?" He set her bowl down in front of her and dug into his own.

"When we first started, I-I don't know. It felt weird having your wavelength in there messing with mine."

"Ah." He chewed and swallowed, concentrating on not inundating her with questions that he all-of-a-frigging-sudden desperately wanted to know the answers to. How serious was his recent transformation into prepubescent girlhood? He looked down at his frilly apron. _Point taken._

"So it feels...good?" He encouraged.

She opened her eyes. He thought her cheeks looked a little pinker. _Probably the heat in this place._ He stood up to crack a window.

"Yeah. I can see why it might be hard for you to describe. I'm having a little trouble myself." She laughed.

"Start from the beginning." He suggested. So, he, Soul Eater, was either turning into a marginally more muscular Mrs. Doubtfire or Doctor Phil. Either way, if any of this ever got back to BlackStar, his balls would soon be joining Stein's collection of fascinating yet sadly extinct creatures. BlackStar would simply feel obligated to confiscate them since Soul obviously wasn't _using_ them.

"Well…I always call for Resonance first. I don't know if I have to or if it just seems right but—"

"You're over-analyzing."

"Then I get this tingly rush. It starts in my chest, I think, and then it goes everywhere. I think that's when we first match wavelengths."

He nodded. "Same here."

"Then there's heat. It always makes me sweaty for some reason and weak. And I feel like I might drop you."

He grunted. "You did the first like twelve times."

"Yeah well, you lost the phase the first few times. Do you know how annoying it was to have your giant boy body landing on me over and over? I had bruises from your elbows for months."

"Hey!" He dropped his spoon with a clatter. "Do you know how hard it is to keep your entire physical body solidified inside a metallic weapon while being groped by some flat-chested girl with control issues?"

"Groped?! As if!"

He wondered how she managed to latch onto what was probably the least problematic part of that question.

"Oh Death. You did not just say 'as if'." He shook his head. "All that book learnin' and blondie still sounds like a valley girl."

WHACK!

_We own a cookbook? Lovely._

"As I was saying." She cleared her throat.

"Do...continue." He said, cradling his head.

"That's when I can first feel you in my head. And I'm in yours at the same time. It's disorienting but it's a huge...rush. I don't know if it's just the adrenaline of the fight or Resonance itself, but..." She took in weird breath, like she was shaky.

He, on the other hand, was maintaining his textbook cool as usual. He simply channeled all his pent up desire to simultaneously run away and grab her (and do what after that he didn't allow his imagination to breach) into one hand, which was currently gripping his spoon so tightly he could feel the cheap little rosette design on the handle tattooing his palm.

He swallowed. "Sounds like fun." He shoveled another mouthful of slightly burnt luke-warm curry into his mouth. He wasn't even hungry, but he felt the need to occupy his tongue to keep it from coming up with other mind-numbingly brilliant things to say in this moment.

"Yeah. It's a bit like a drug, or what I imagine using a drug would feel like. Sort of surreal and euphoric."

_Whatever that means._ Maka on the Black Blood had been wicked scary. Maka on real drugs would probably make him want to lock her up underneath the school and never let her out again. He swallowed, gagging on unmasticated curry. Apparently chewing is a prerequisite.

"What about you?" She turned back to her food while she asked, not meeting his eyes, probably hoping she didn't look as eager as she obviously was to hear him spill.

"Uh, yeah. That's about how it is for me too." Give or take 10,000 times and a billion more sensations and hell, she'd freak if she knew what it was really like for him. Or, what he let it be like. He was 100 percent convinced the feeling was all in his head—one part over-stimulated maleness to 99 parts under-stimulated maleness. Basically he was just horny. And Resonance was an incredible release. He just had to make sure Maka never figured out she played a part in his...release, which would be a guaranteed braining by the biggest encyclopedia she owned (probably the Britannica version) coupled with a goodbye-see-you-never again weirdo.

"Sooul." She whined. It was kind of cute (in that way only men turned into prepubescent girls could think something was cute). If you showed him a unicorn right now, he'd probably swoon.

"Please? I told you how felt for me."

"Honestly, Maka, it's nothing special."

_Ooooh. Wrong thing to say._ And he knew it was all wrong the minute he opened his mouth and his tongue started flapping and damn he was fucked now.

"So, the feeling of merging your soul with another person's is nothing special to you?"

He really had to stop using his mouth for communication. He wondered how long it would take to learn sign language.

"That's...not what I meant exactly."

"Then what EXACTLY do you mean?" Her tone was edging back into book/brain collision territory.

"I mean I don't think we should talk about this at all. I mean you should stop being so...so..." _Stop now, Eater. Your testicles are begging you._

"So what?!"

_Now is not the time to be honest. Give her a good line about not wanting to worry her or about how her feelings are the only thing that matters._

"Soul!"

"Close! You're just too damn close!"

_Fuck it. Your brain is done trying to save this situation and your testicles. You're on your own, buddy._

"You're not making sense. Close to what?!"

"Me! You're too close to _me!_" He grabbed his bowl, threw it in the sink—it shattered in the most satisfactory way—and stormed off to his bedroom.

He didn't turn around to see how his tone and words had broken over her face and the totally unmasked hurt that bled through the cracks in her armor. If he had, he'd probably have fallen at her feet and begged for forgiveness, admitted his stupidity and fear of losing her to his obsessive and completely inappropriate affection for her. He would have given in to her and confessed everything because that what she did to him, what she'd always done. It was her unique power.

But he didn't. And surprisingly, in the darkness of his room, he felt better, like he'd gotten at least one arm out from under the heavy-ass weight that had been crushing him for months. A weight named Maka, cloaked in confusion and desire and guilt.

So, yeah, his brain had officially washed its mushy hands of the whole thing. Soul Eater was a new man.


	2. Cacophony

**What do people write in these things? I obviously don't own Soul Eater. If I did, Soul and Maka would be making babies by now…er, when they reached the appropriate ages for such shenanigans. Feed me reviews! The writing monster is hungry.**

**Aaand I've edited this a bit. No substantial changes. I just can't stop pecking at it. Every time I miss a typo a fairy somewhere falls down dead.  
**

* * *

Unfortunately it was pretty much impossible to suffocate oneself with a pillow. Top-of-the-class Maka came to this conclusion quickly, but still, it felt better to smash her face into the cloth and scream silently and pitifully rather than actually scream and risk waking Soul and causing even more damage to their apparently—distressingly—fragile partnership.

_Why _did she have to go and say those things about their Resonance? She'd obviously freaked him out. He probably thought she was crazy; talking about a fighting technique like it was some kind of high she _enjoyed_. Ugh.

She pressed the pillow to her mouth and bit down until her jaw ached and her fingers went numb.

How did she take it all back now? The idea struck her like a blow to the gut. She'd never had to take anything back with Soul before. That was what made him an awesome partner; somehow, no matter how weird or moody or controlling she got, he was always willing to accept her. Oh he'd call her on it, she expected no less, but he'd pick her up, dust her off, and tell her to suck it up and fight with him. And she would. She'd do anything for him.

She pulled the pillow down, the dampness of her face startling in the cool evening air. She'd left her window open and a storm was coming. She swiped at her wet cheeks angrily. Death, had she been crying? _Pathetic_. She wanted to hide. She wanted to sink down into her bed and become a dust bunny for Blair to torture. She deserved it.

_Why do I push him? After four years of partnership, why do I still have to push him?_

She sat up suddenly. No! No the better question was why _he_ had to pull away. After four years, why was he pulling away now? It wasn't like she was asking him to do anything dangerous. Even if her confession had been a little _intimate_, they already knew way too much about each other—Soul knew her exact monthly schedule and made sure she was well stocked with tampons and chocolate before making himself scarce for exactly five days, and she knew precisely what sort of boxers he liked and made sure to wash the correct ones for the correct occasions (bone print when he needed confidence; paisley when he was feeling creative; solids when he played basketball with BlackStar).

But this one tiny moment where she'd sort of, basically, admitted to enjoying the feeling of Resonating with him shouldn't have thrown their entire relationship into chaos. For Death's sake, they practically lived in each others heads at least an hour out of every workday anyway.

_I just wanted to know, that's all. I just thought it would help…_

He'd assured her that their connection wasn't hurting or exhausting him. But after she'd so openly confessed what it felt like for her, it was just…unfair for him to deny her the same courtesy. It wasn't like him. Soul wasn't much of a joiner or a sharer, she kind of liked that about him. He held back, gauged the situation, calculated his moves. He was more analytical than he gave himself credit for. Except with her. For her he'd played the crazy beautiful notes of his soul on a whim and then dared to ask her to be his partner. He was a bit older, so he could have paired up long before he met her, but he didn't. For some reason she still didn't understand (though she'd never, _ever _admit it to her weapon) he chose her, and the idea still sent a thrill through her.

When they'd first set foot in the sparing room together as a newly minted Meister and weapon pair, the entire room had gone silent. No one could believe Soul Eater Evans, a powerful scythe with an attitude problem, had teamed up with the crazy nerd-brain daughter of Spirit Albarn.

But the first time he'd transformed and she'd felt the weight of him in her mind and in her hands she knew it was right. They fit together—like the slightly warped pieces of a favorite old puzzle.

_So what's happening to us now?_

She had half a mind to barge into his bedroom and demand answers. The old Maka—younger, brasher—would have done just that. She wouldn't have let something this ridiculous ruin their friendship. But since he'd become a Death Scythe and the end to their academy days started casting its long shadow, she'd felt different around him, like she had to be careful or he'd up and leave. Even though that had always been the plan. He was the weapon, she was the stone that sharpened and honed him.

Death, what was she lately? Some sniveling, pathetic version of her father hanging on Soul's heals, riding his coat tails to glory?

She should go. She should confront him. She should tell him that in order for him to be everything she knew he could be, he had to fess up. They couldn't keep things like this from each other. And they had to learn to Resonate deeper if that was what Lord Death wanted. It was in the contract.

They'd Resonated as a group in the past. They'd even mastered Genie Hunter without the black blood. They could do this. He was just afraid of change. He was afraid to let someone else in, alone, into his head like he did with her. And if he learned to master his ability to Resonate, he might be letting a lot of people in soon.

_That's it_! She nearly smacked herself. Why hadn't she seen it before? It wasn't Resonance itself that was bothering him; it was the idea that other people might have to see him like she saw him. And for all his desire to be the epitome of cool, Soul was much more awkward and quirky and moody around others than even she was.

_He's afraid! He's afraid to let anyone else in!  
_

Their chain resonance had been powerful with Kid, Patti and Liz, and BlackStar and Tsubaki, but it had been mostly surface. They'd shared some errant thoughts and stray emotions with their team, but the Resonance between a Meister and a weapon was different. The others certainly hadn't been privy to the Black Room or the piano in his soul.

Maka made it to his bedroom door, her fist hovering in the air, a breath from knocking, before chickening out like the gangly flat-chested chicken she was. _But what he doesn't let me in? _She growled in frustration, spinning around and leaning against the wall beside his door.

"Soul," she whispered. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do. Why are you pulling away from me?"

From inside his room she thought she heard him stir, roll over, and mumble.

_Death, he even sounds pissed in his sleep_.

She shut her eyes, letting herself slide to the floor, concentrating on feeling his soul through the wall. When she opened them she could see it. A ball of warm light that expanded and contracted as he slept. She smiled. Even when she was beyond angry with him his wavelength was incredibly calming—a low melody to her high-pitched cacophony. She could have fallen asleep right there, a wall away, watching his soul as it caught and rode the waves of REM sleep. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She wondered if he was really mad at her or if that little fit in the kitchen had been some sort of pent up frustration over the situation itself.

Maka was so caught up in a half-asleep, half daydreaming state she didn't notice her own soul reaching out for his—a tendril of her passing through his wavelength and binding them. She sat up with a start, feeling the tingling heat of Resonance starting in her chest. _No! I didn't! We can't!_

But it was too late, the rush of it overtook her and she slumped back against the wall, her knees gone weak. She was too tired to fight the feeling of his sleeping mind and the excruciating comfort of his essence twisting around her. She was falling under.

They'd never Resonated without a fight or test or training or other adrenaline-boosting event on the horizon and they'd certainly never Resonated when Soul was in his human body and _asleep_. The affect was an overwhelming awareness of him physically that immediately began shutting down her logical brain—he was warm and comfortable and dreaming and something in him recognized her and drew her down with him.

_::Maka_:: His breathy, sleepy voice in her head made her shiver.

She could have resisted, should have. Normally it was her that pulled him into Resonance, but here he was turning the tables as usual. She'd think about that later, when all was said and done, that she probably should have pulled out, walked away, not taken them both down this path. But the still unknown corners of her weapon's mind were like frustratingly locked doors suddenly sprung open before her. She _had_ to know. And in his unconsciousness, he was apparently more than willing to let her pass through and explore. She let her eyes close; she let herself drift.

* * *

With a jolt, Soul found himself in the Black Room. He'd have been perfectly content to stay on his dream beach for the full the eight hours of blissful unconsciousness, where each curling white wave played a bit of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" for him as it slide across the sand, and Maka dosed beside him in the sun humming the bits the waves left out.

He wiped drool off his face and stood slowly. _Not cool_. Why was he drooling in his dreams? Apparently his face had been planted squarely on the keys of this ink-black grand piano. He probably had a lovely piano key-themed tattoo on his face.

_How am I here? I'm asleep._ He looked around. He didn't recall waking, so he must still be sleeping, which means he must be dreaming about _this_ damned hellhole rather than lying on the beach. Lame. But he hardly ever dreamed about the Black Room anymore. And the little demon had all but disappeared from his subconscious mind. So who—

Soul's eyes landed on a stray, dark blond pigtail hanging off the edge of the piano. He followed it up to to Maka's sleeping body, curled up on the lid. He was momentarily annoyed. _She might scratch it_.

"Idiot," he grumbled, leaning over and tucking the pigtail behind her ear. Her eyes opened quickly, and she scrambled back from him, almost falling off the top.

"Whoa, whoa!" He laughed, grabbing her arms to steady her. "You alright?"

"Wh-where? Where are we?"

He scowled. "You don't recognize it?"

She looked around, at the shadowy corners, the velvet curtains, the candles. The massively obnoxious painting of him and her clasping hands over the piano was a dead giveaway.

"The Black Room, but how—"

"Apparently I missed it subconsciously." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black pinstripe suit. "Don't know why I decided to drag us away from the beach, but—"

"The beach?"

Soul sighed, yanking at his red tie until the knot gave way. He pulled it over his head and tossed it on the piano lid.

"I needed a vacation."

She shook her head at him in apparent confusion, curling one arm over her chest. Rather than the alluring black dress his mind always laid out for her, here she was, shivering in a tank top and pajama bottoms, her feet bare.

"Weird." He reached out to roll one strap of her tank top between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened in shock. _Also weird. _"I don't even like these on you," he mumbled.

Maka pulled away from him, sliding off the piano and backing away.

"Soul, I don't know what's going on, but you have to understand; I really didn't mean to end up here."

He chuckled to himself. What was his subconscious playing at _now_? Normally Maka was practically silent in his dreams. Sometimes, like on the beach, she was even asleep. He could barely deal with her verbosity when he was awake, so when she appeared in his dreams (all too often of late), she kept her mouth blissfully shut. She certainly didn't pull away from him and look _afraid _when he touched her. Maybe it was all the crap going on between them these days. Maybe her anger and mistrust was a kinky sort of turn on? He didn't question it.

Rather, he turned around and sat back on the bench again, cracking his knuckles. "I'm glad you're here, though."

She swallowed. He watched the motion of her pale throat with interest. Maybe he'd bite it later. He'd always wanted to. It was _his _dream, after all. She'd like it.

"Wh-why?"

"Because I wrote you a song. Or, I've _been writing_ it for awhile now." He let his fingers rest lightly on the keys, playing the first chord and humming contentedly that even in his dream Black Room, the black piano had just the right pitch.

"You wrote me a song?"

"Yeah. And it's not like I'd ever let the _real_ you hear it." Real Maka would probably demand to know precisely why he'd written it. And he wasn't ready to answer that.

He motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench. She hesitated.

"Come on. I won't bite." He bared his sharp teeth at her.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here, Soul."

He rolled his eyes. OK. Dream Maka's tone was bordering on Real Maka's tone, which was a bit like a teacher's voice mixed with his mother's and was so not cool and did not set the right mood at all.

"Shut up and sit down, would you?"

She jumped a bit, eyeing him warily, but sat. She kept her legs over the end of the bench, however, rather than letting her thigh touch his. He frowned as he noted this but played another chord.

"I started writing this in the hospital."

"Hmm?" She turned back around to regard him, as if she'd been thinking of something else or actively trying to tune him out. Real Maka often did that, lost in her world of facts and figures. It never bothered him. She listened when it mattered.

"I started hearing this song in my head after Crona sushied my torso. That first night in the hospital, I was in and out of it for hours, and you were there in the chair beside me; your stupid head was on my legs, and you were sleeping so fitfully that I started humming this song for you—to see if would calm you down, you know? It just came to me."

He let the notes travel up his arms and through his chest and shut his eyes. It was achingly simple, this song, and sweet like she could be (when sleeping or worried about him). It wasn't like the one he'd played for her the first time. That one had been dark, twisted—beautiful in its disharmony—and he'd wanted her to know the full extent of it like he'd wanted her to see the full extent of the double-stacked weirdness that was his soul. He'd been daring her to run away.

She didn't. Instead, she'd just cocked her head like a little bird and asked to hear it again. She'd laughed, smiled, not getting it at first but understanding it on some level, like the way anyone with two brain cells to rub together could appreciate the beauty of a Dega without knowing one scrap of art theory. She was the only one who'd ever gotten it, his song, him.

He felt her hands on his, lacing into his fingers and forcing him to stop. He opened his eyes. She was watching him.

"You don't like it?" He asked. She _had_ to like it. She was _his_ Dream Maka.

He thought he saw something like guilt ignite then die in her eyes. She pulled her hands away.

"No! I mean _yes_! I love it, Soul. I can't even say how much." She did that swallowing thing and he was momentarily distracted by her throat and how her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Could they just get to the good part already? He leaned toward her experimentally. She leaned away.

_This dream sucks about as much as life_ _these days_, he grumbled internally.

"But you don't seem to get what's going on here!" Her tone rose at the end like it always did when she was getting near the end of her patience and a Maka Chop was looking more and more likely. Lucky for him he carried absolutely no hardbound books in his dream world.

"Look, Maka, I get that I'm asleep and that you're apparently here to make me feel guilty and frustrate the hell out of me just like you do in real life; although, why my unconscious mind would want to do this to me I don't know, but I'm not playing along."

His fingers returned to the keys, banging out "Claire de Lune" much faster and livelier than intended.

"Ugh!" Maka let her head fall into her hands. "What am I doing?" She asked no one. (No one because _he _certainly wasn't listening. His dreams were strictly Crazy Women No Fly Zones.)

"Why don't you just go?" He asked, keeping his voice neutral. He didn't really want her to go. He really wanted her to climb onto his lap and wrap her long legs around him and—

"I don't think I can. We're _Resonating_. We have to break it off simultaneously, remember, or it could do us both damage."

Dream Maka was too damned practical for his taste. "Then what, my _Meister_, do you want to do?"

She looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Do?"

"In _here_, together." He gestured between them. "I'm getting bored." He banged on the keys for emphasis. She jumped.

"I, uh, well—"

"_Go _ahead and ask me already, for Death's sake you're pathetic even in my dreams."

"Ask you what?"

"About Resonance. All those annoying questions you asked me in the kitchen. Even dream you is probably chomping at the bit."

Her face lit up with sudden understanding. Had his dream mind made her a touch more stupid than normal?

"About what it feels like for you?"

He nodded and launched abruptly into a slow Tchaikovsky's "Morceaux."

"You _want _to tell me?"

He shrugged. "I'm curious to know how you'll react. Or, how I _think_ you'll react," he tapped his forehead. "Since this is all happening in my head."

"I shouldn't." She rubbed her own forehead, clearly considering whether or not to play along. But did he know her or did he know her? Maka in any form—subconscious, unconscious, figment, brilliant, idiotic—would always be insatiably curious.

He let her off the hook. Even though it was tempting, and hell if it wasn't hot, watching her squirm a bit with the apparent moral dilemma.

"It feels good," he said.

Her eyes snapped back up to him. Tchaikovsky became Issac Albeniz's "Mallorca" in F Sharp Minor.

"It feels _too_ good," he sighed. "That's the problem."

"I don't understand."

"No, no you wouldn't. Perfect, sexless, Maka Albarn."

"Hey! I'm not—"

"Sorry, not sexless. I've seen you in your underwear. You've definitely got girl parts. _Libido-less_."

"You're not making sense!"

"It turns me on, Maka! Resonating with you is a big fucking turn on!" He watched her eyes go wide, her mouth open and close like a fish's. "I know, weird, right? Even in battle it still gets me a little hot, though my favorite is during training when you're all sweaty and—"

"Stop! Just…God _Soul!_" She stood up quickly, burying her face in her hands. Funny, his subconscious managed to get the exact shade of her blush right. He mentally patted himself on the back for that. Damn he was an observant little pervert.

"Sorry but you're the one who wanted to know. You couldn't just leave well enough alone, as they say. That's a stupid saying, by the way. What does it even mean?"

Her shoulders slumped. "So if Resonance…turns you…on…are you just afraid someone else will notice? Is that why you're so afraid to do it in Stein's office? Or with another Meister?"

He shrugged. "I have a sinking suspicion it wouldn't work with anyone else. I mean the turn on part. The Resonance will probably work. Most likely."

"Why?" She turned around, face still pink. "Why only with me?"

"Because you're you? I don't know. Because we've practically lived on top of each other since I was 13 and you're the only girl who's ever even _tried_ to get me." He sighed and rubbed his face.

"I-it feels good for me too," she said, her voice sounded weirdly meek, nervous. And her eyebrows were drawn together like she was confused at her own words. He didn't like it.

"Yeah. I remember your little confession in the kitchen. It doesn't even come close."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're wrong. I do have a…a libido."

He laughed, then snorted, then nearly doubled over on the bench.

"What?! What's funny?"

"You! Death, my head made you every bit as ridiculous as you are in real life this time."

"Soul, for the last time, I am _actually_ _here_ in your head with you. This. Is. Me. Wait, _this time?_"

He rolled his eyes, trilling a few high notes with the first and middle finger of his left hand. "You're normally quieter, though, and you wear less clothing."

There goes the blush again, up her neck and into her hairline like a wildfire. He felt mildly pleased at the sight.

"Maybe you should pretend like I'm real, hmm? Maybe don't tell me things you normally wouldn't want me to know?"

"Why? It's a relief. I don't tell you much anymore."

Finally, _finally_, she was sitting back down beside him and the warmth of her leg was near his. "I noticed," she said, rubbing her arm absently, not meeting his eyes. "Why is that?"

"Like I said, you wouldn't get it. If it isn't in MLA citation and hardbound in alphabetized volumes, you don't pay attention." He didn't mean to sound quite so pathetically pouty, but there it was. Dream him was letting it all hang out.

"That's not true."

"Yeah? When was the last time you had a sex dream?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Me? Last night," he grinned at her. "And you were there. Do you want to hear about it?"

"Oh my God, no. I do not." She put her hands over her ears. He pried them off.

"This is normal teenage behavior, Maka. Haven't you read about it somewhere? People get horny. People get irrationally fixated on other people. People have sex dreams, and people whack off thinking about—"

"Do you think you're the only one who's frustrated sometimes?" She burst out, then shut her mouth quickly.

He blinked. _Now_ things were getting interesting. "The unflappable Maka gets frustrated?"

She nodded quickly, shutting her eyes. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Sexually frustrated?"

She shrugged. _Non committal, but not exactly a no either._

Soul chuckled. "I know that had to hurt to admit. It would the Real Maka, and apparently I've created you in her image."

"It isn't funny."

"This whole damn situation is funny. Look at me! I've been fixated on you like a dog on a God damned bone for months and you have no freaking clue. Your stupid body, your stupid voice, your freaking smell—it's all been driving me so frigging insane. And it all started with Resonating, when it got intense between us last year. After we'd made Genie hunter that first time, and we merged so completely, I couldn't get the feeling of you out of my head. And then you had to start growing up and looking all…like you look. What's a red-blooded, shark-toothed guy supposed to do? I tried to stop it. I whack off every freaking day. Nothing helps. I don't know." He dropped his forehead to the keys with a discordant thump.

Maka was silent. She hadn't stormed off or declared him a disgusting pervert yet, so he knew Dream Maka was not the clone of Real Maka. She didn't even chop him.

"So _that's_ why you don't want to Resonate deeper?"

Here he was, admitting an unhealthy sexual attraction to his best friend and partner and Meister, and she was trying to figure out how to turn it all back around to their lesson? Gah!

"I think if we Resonated any deeper I'd go insane," he said flatly.

"So Resonating for you is like an-an"

"A bit like an orgasm, yeah—only sometimes. Mostly when we're training and I'm not concentrating on keeping you from killing us both. And when you do that thing with your hand on my shaft."

He _heard_ her sharp intake of breath. "Your shaft?!"

"Of my weapon body! For Death's sake, Maka, your head's in the gutter." He snickered. She smacked the back of his head. The keys under his face complained in harsh tones.

"None of this makes complete sense to me, but I understand now why you were hesitant about Resonance." She said finally. He turned his face to look at her. She was flushed, not quite meeting his eyes, but she wasn't running away. This dream gave her way too much credit.

"A lot of good it does telling _you_ all this. How am I supposed to tell _her?" _

She tugged at one pigtail, adjusting the tie. "I wouldn't worry about it, honestly. I think she knows."

He nearly choked as he sat up. "If you—she—knew, she'd kick me out or run away screaming or—"

"You don't have a whole lot of faith in me these days."

"How am I supposed to feel? It's not like I can control this stuff. I'm a teenage guy and you're a teenage girl that I live with but am not allowed to have sex with and that's enough to drive anyone insane. I'm surprised the black blood hasn't resurfaced."

"Did you ever stop to think that you drive her insane too?"

He snorted. "Dream Maka, it's great for you to sit here and tell me my partner secretly desires my body; it's a real frigging ego boost, but I get to live the harsh God damned reality. Maka is my partner. That's how she sees me and how I _should_ see her. That's it."

"She certainly doesn't _ignore_ your body." She tugged on the other pigtail, snapping the tie, not looking at him.

"She probably doesn't even know what an orgasm is."

"She so does!"

"Oh yeah? You gonna tell me she pleasures herself at night while I'm asleep a wall away, too? That's a riot. I've thought about it, honestly…_if_ she does it, _where_ she does it, _who_ she thinks about…but I've also been through every drawer in her bedroom and I know for a fact she doesn't own anything battery-powered."

"Ew! You go through my—her—drawers?"

"I do her laundry, so yeah. I've seen her underwear drawer. Big whoop."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't, hasn't, you know…"

Soul yawned at this. "Even if she did, she probably thinks about beating on pre-kishin or training."

"Don't be ridiculous."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? OK, Dream Maka, what does she think about when she's touching herself?"

He watched the flush creep back up; a little sweat was gathering in the hollow of her collarbone. He had the illogical desire to lick her, taste her. He shook his head to clear it.

"S-she thinks about, uh, well—"

"Faster attacks? No, wait, I've got it, stronger soul perception!"

"You! Damn it! Sometimes she thinks about you, Soul." Her face disappeared behind her hands again.

He huffed. "Right. I've had about as much as I can take of your pretty lies, OK? Although I suppose it's just me, lying to myself as usual. Maybe you should disappear now." He turned back to the keyboard and threw himself into another song—a little angry Bach.

It wasn't two seconds later her hand captured his wrist and pulled him around to face her. Her cheeks were a lovely shade of tomato.

"Does this feel like a lie?"

He didn't have time to think of a clever comeback because she was leaning into him and then she was pressing her lips to his and his logical brain (what little he had to begin with) short-circuited the minute he felt the heat of her breath and her incredible softness. _Goddamn this feels…good._

She pulled away, looking as startled with herself as he was.

"That…that didn't feel like…" He stammered, eyes wide.

"I've been trying to tell you."

"This isn't…it isn't…"

"I said it wasn't."

He stood up so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get distance between him and Maka. _The Maka_. Real Maka. Fuck a duck, the real fucking Maka was sitting in his head and had heard all that, _all _that.

"What the fuck are you doing in my head!?"

And with that they were torn—a rushing, painful tearing of soul from soul—out of the Resonance and slammed back into reality.


	3. Glissando

**Soul Eater-I don't own it. I probably couldn't handle owning it. I couldn't resist rewriting ALL the Soul Maka scenes to be just a tad fluffier and smuttier. Possibly more than a tad. Likely more than a tad.**

**Warning: I tend to post and then go back and edit in annoyingly purposeless ways. Nothing much changes. I just have a problem leaving things alone. Feel free to yell at me! Also, this is a shorter chapter. I have a much, much longer one in the works (complete with plot bunnies)!**

**Reviews are wonderful motivation!**

* * *

She didn't want to admit she was scared. Even more, she didn't want to admit that Soul was the cause of it. What had happened in there? The things he'd said and the things she'd done—she bit her lip hard, steadying herself against the wall outside the lecture hall, measuring her breathing.

Was she hyperventilating? Is this what happens to people when they've started-er-approached..._hinted_ at a physically intimate relationship with another person? Was shallow breathing and sweating like a pig normal in this context? What the hell _was_ this context anyway? _Since when did any of this crap matter to me? I am not my father!_

She wanted to slam her fist into the wall and use the pain to block out the memory of that song and the way he played it so slowly and so carefully, and his lips, she most definitely needed to construct Great Wall-Style barriers around them and their accompanying, tremble-inducing sensations, and then there was the ridiculously sexy way his red eyes flared open in shock when she kissed him and his utterly adorable stammering. _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! _

She forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand—her lateness for class and Soul potentially lying in wait, ready to ambush her with who knows what. She poked her head around the corner and scanned the rows for a telltale messy white mop of hair.

Avoidance is the best tactic. At least until she could figure out what exactly they'd admitted to each other and what it meant. Obviously he had admitted to a whole lot more than her and in much more excruciating detail, but she'd also admitted to thinking about him while...actually it was more like he crossed her mind once in a while not that she deliberately thought about him while...doing _that_. His presence in those moments was always pretty fleeting, really.

_Perfect, sexless, Maka_. His annoying voice reverberated around in her head, laughing at her, dancing away when she tried to grab it and stuff it down deep where it couldn't bug the crap out of her anymore.

_I'm not sexless! _I have sex…ual dreams of an intimate nature, too. Hell, I admitted to thinking about him while I…I…

_You can't even say it, can you?_

_Shut up! I don't need to say it! _

_It? It?_

_Masterbation! Masterbation! MASTERBATION! _

A clatter to her right startled her out of her internal bickering with the imaginary Soul. Miss Marie had dropped a stack of papers and pencils on the floor not five feet from her and they'd rolled in a million directions on the slippery marble. She looked down at Maka strangely.

"Did you say something, Maka?"

_Oh, God. Did I?_

"N-n-no. Did you—what did you hear?"

_I'm going to get expelled for being a closet pervert_. Or worse, sent to see the school psychiatrist—who just happened to be Professor Stein (now tell me how that makes any sense at all?!).

"Oh! It must have been another class. Probably sparing 101. It sounded like an angry yell." Miss Marie laughed, kneeling down to grab her papers and corral them into a pile.

"Can I help?" Maka took a step toward her. Miss Marie waved her off, smiling and laughing.

"No, no! You get to class, I'll get this."

Class. Right. That place where Soul was probably waiting for her, feet up on the desk or half awake. He'd probably laugh in her face the moment he saw her. Either that or he'd be livid for the intense act of privacy invasion she'd perpetrated in his head. Either way she was screwed. Her stomach twisted into deeper and deeper knots.

But the worst part, the absolute worst part, was the fact that _she'd_ kissed _him_. That more than anything he'd said was a complete violation of his trust in her and in the strength of their partnership and in the comfort of their friendship. And she couldn't take it back. She could never take it back.

Why why why why had she kissed him? Why didn't she chop him? Brain him with the piano lid? Anything else? She felt her cheeks flame and took a tentative step into the lecture hall, making a second sweep of the room, simultaneously relieved and annoyed when she realized it was half-past eight and he still hadn't shown up for their morning class. _He's too important to be skipping like a loser. He should know better_.

The fist-tight knot in her gut just wouldn't go away. Having him there and knowing at least the extent of his anger through soul perception would have been infinitely better than not being able to find him at all.

She hadn't thought to use her soul perception when she'd woken up on the floor in the hallway, her arm numb from being folded beneath her all night. Her first highly irrational uber girly instinct had been to run into his room and apologize, make up some excuse about how, scientifically, the lips were the easiest thing to stimulate while dreaming and that was why she used his to bring him back to full awareness.

She'd avoided his room instead, like a completely different flavor of pathetic, running to the bathroom and taking an extra long shower. Predictably, the apartment had been empty when she'd exited in a cloud of steam. His sheets had been rumpled and unmade, a stray pillow on the floor, and he hadn't used his towel, so she knew he'd split the moment he'd woken up.

She took a seat in the back of the class, gathering more than a few blatant stares. Her fellow students probably thought the world had come to an end because she, Maka Albarn, had arrived thirty minutes late and had snuck into a seat in the very last row like some kind of…BlackStar. She shuddered at the thought. Luckily Mr. Sid either didn't notice her entrance (unlikely; the zombie was uncannily observant for a corpse) or gave her the benefit of the doubt this time.

She felt someone pull up a seat beside her as she dragged out her notebook and began furiously copying the chalky words from the blackboard—something about proper nutrition for optimum resonance, the amount of calories consumed while simultaneously resonating and fighting were x equals time resonating plus strength of resonance divided by—

"Maka?" Tsubaki whispered beside her. Maka looked up at her friend, blinking. Tsubaki's dark eyes were searching but mildly amused as always. Maka knew in exactly half a second that Tsubaki had a) seen Soul this morning and b) knew something had happened between them.

She squirmed. So not ready for a full-on confession. "Yeah?"

"Girl's room?" Tsubaki asked, motioning toward the door.

Maka pointed back at Mr. Sid with her pen. "But—"

"Now." Tsubaki said, quiet but firm, and stood up.

Maka nodded meekly, following. She'd have to apologize doubly to Mr. Sid when she got back, but right now, she felt like she might be heading to an impromptu and potentially painful interrogation by a talented multi-weapon.

She slid into the girl's bathroom behind Tsubaki, locking the door and clutching her notebook tighter against her chest. Her friend did a quick check of the stalls for which Maka mentally thanked her.

"So…tell me what happened." She asked, satisfied there were no witnesses.

"What do you already know?" Maka's voice squeaked. She cleared her throat.

The tall weapon leaned one hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I know Soul showed up at our door at 6 a.m. and dragged BlackStar away to play basketball."

Maka let her breath out in a hiss. "Damn it."

"He's done this before, you know, but it's always when something happens between you two, so…spill."

Where to start? She thinks her weapon may have developed some sort of unnatural sexual attraction toward her that hinged on their Resonance? Or should she start with the fact that she'd accidentally caused them to Resonate while half asleep and in separate rooms? Or maybe she should lead in with how she thinks she might also be feeling a weird degree of attraction toward her weapon, and in blatant disregard for everything she believed and knew to be right, acted on it last night by kissing him while inside his head?

Tsubaki's eyes lit up. Apparently Maka's mouth had narrated her thoughts in some version.

"Yes! BlackStar owes me 10 bucks." She beamed.

"What?"

"Sorry. BlackStar and I have a few running bets about you two."

Maka gaped. "Like what?"

She brushed her off, the greedy triumphant face quickly replaced by friendly concern. "Don't worry about that now. Tell me everything else."

So she did. What else could she do? She told her about how Stein had asked them to try Resonating at a higher frequency as a sort of preparation for Soul's eventual reassignment and how Soul had stormed off and refused to do it and then how he'd confessed while in his own head that the feeling of Resonance had become practically orgasmic for him.

Tsubaki flushed when Maka explained the gory details. Though she left out the part where he admitted to having sexual dreams about her. If she had to guess, that little factoid was probably also on the TsuStar bet list. They didn't need any more ammunition.

"Isn't it good that you know now? If he's been bottling up how he feels for so long, it has to be affecting your partnership not to mention your friendship."

"I never thought it was affecting anything until Denmark and he was all hesitant about Resonating. Now I know he's been afraid I'll notice his reaction to Resonance. He's being completely ridiculous about the whole thing."

"He's afraid you'd see him differently."

Maka nodded.

_If she knew, she'd kick me out or run away screaming or…_

Soul's expression had been so...hopeless. Maka swallowed. Was that really how he felt?

Damn her weapon and his obsession with protecting her from absolutely everything. If he'd aired all this out earlier they might not be in this situation.

"Wouldn't you have?"

"Of course I wouldn't have seen him differently. And I don't now. We've been through a lot more than this. We'll both get over it."

"Hmm." Tsubaki tapped a fingernail against her teeth as she thought. "How did he react to what you told him?"

"I don't really know. He thought I was a figment of his imagination."

Tsubaki cocked an eyebrow. Maka waved her off. "Never mind that. How do I get us both out of this with our friendship intact? "

"You have to talk to him."

Maka leaned back against the bathroom door heavily.

"I can't face him after last night. I kissed him! My weapon! And I admitted to my partner and best friend that I think about him while I...you know."

Tsubaki grinned again. "That's another 10 bucks."

"Focus, Tsu!"

"Right!" Tsubaki turned around and began adjusting her ponytail in the mirror. The girl could have amazing revelations while adjusting her mile-long hairdo. "Soul's feelings aside, what do you want him to do?"

Maka swallowed. That's precisely the question she'd been avoiding since this whole thing blew up in her face. What do I want?

She tried to distill her tangled memories of the night spent in Soul's head down to just her feelings. When he'd started saying all those things she'd felt…icky. No, that wasn't it—uncomfortable, yes, but also...her heart had pounded so loud. She'd felt like running away, like slapping him, like grabbing him and—

"Maka?"

"I just—I want to forget the whole thing and go back to the way we were." _Liar._

Tsubaki frowned at her own reflection in the mirror. "Do you really think you can after what you've admitted to each other?"

"Maybe? I don't know! It's just hormones, right? He and I both know that. He even said he didn't understand it himself and that it was probably just a function of us living together for so many years and being in so many intense situations and having zero time for romantic relationships."

"That sounds like an excuse to ignore how you really feel."

Maka balked. "You don't think Soul and I should—you can't be serious!? What the hell would we be if we were that way? You can't really be partners and be that."

"What would be so weird about being in romantic relationship with Soul? You spend every waking moment together. You already love each other."

"As friends!" Maka insisted, her words echoed around the bathroom.

"And Soul? What does he want?"

"I don't know. He ran out before we could breach the subject. I would guess he has no clue and is pretty content to just ignore it right now."

"But he said you're driving him crazy."

"That's an exaggeration."

"Actually those were his words when BlackStar opened the door this morning. I heard him from the kitchen.'"

Maka swallowed, her mouth dry. _What did that mean?_ More importantly, what did _he_ want? Did he ever think about…would he ever even _consider_…

She shook her head. _Don't be absurd. _She couldn't even imagine being with Soul like that, holding hands (other than when they were fighting or running away or one of them needed comfort), holding each other (other than when they were fighting or running away or one of them needed comfort), being all emotional (other than when they were fighting or running away or one of them needed comfort)—the idea was preposterous. Laughable.

She swallowed. "I really need to talk to him."

"Yes you do."

She hid her face in her hands. "I _really_ don't want to talk to him."

"But you have to."

"I have to?"

"Now."

"What?" Maka peered out from between her fingers.

"You'll just chicken out and go home if you wait for the end of the day. As your friend I can't allow you to give in to weakness like that." Tsubaki reached over and unlocked the bathroom door. The resulting click sounded unnaturally loud in her ears.

"I can't skip! I've never skipped!"

"Maka! What's more important, Soul or your perfect attendance?"

Maka bit her cheek.

"Maka! Get your scrawny butt to the basketball court now or so help me, I'll tell BlackStar you finger yourself and think about Soul!"

Maka was out the door and down the hall before Tsubaki could finish that sentence. BlackStar and finger were motivation enough.

* * *

As luck would have it—or not, depending on how you looked at the situation—the basketball courts were otherwise deserted. BlackStar was sprawled out in a sweaty heap on one of the benches alongside the court while Soul dribbled furiously, only stopping to aim and shoot ridiculously perfect three-pointers. That Boy had aim.

Maka's legs felt like she'd been running, like someone had slipped weights into her boots. She could barely drag herself to stand ten feet behind her weapon without feeling like they were opposite ends of a magnet. She wanted to run. Everything in her gut shouted at her to Run. The. Hell. Away.

But it was _Soul_. It was the boy—man—she trusted more than anyone in the world and his shoulders were tense and the back of his neck was slick with sweat and she just wanted to go back in time and make this all go away.

"S-Soul?" She cleared her throat. Was she coming down with something? Lately she sounded like a cross between her 12-year-old self and a smoker.

He dribbled twice, spun the ball in his hands, bent his legs, and went for another three-pointer. The ball bounced off the backboard.

"Fuck!" He growled.

Maybe he hadn't heard her? She edged a bit closer and tapped his arm. He spun around, looking angry but not a bit surprised to see her standing there.

"So, nerd brain skips class now. Alert the media."

"I thought we should talk." She breathed. Focus on breathing. Don't focus on how angry he looks.

"I don't." He turned back around and went after the ball, currently rolling toward BlackStar on the bench.

"Soul! Please? I don't think we should just ignore it, OK? I mean, not unless you want to. But you have to tell me if that's what you want. Because I'm not psychic and I can't read your mind." She stumbled over to him.

He grabbed the ball and scowled back at her. "You could always invade my head again and get your information that way."

She winced. Score one for Eater.

"It was an accident!"

"Screw that, Maka, you took advantage of me."

She nearly fell over. "I-I what? I took advantage of you? I tried to tell you like four times that I was real and that we were Resonating not dreaming, but you wouldn't listen."

"Because I wasn't totally awake!"

"Well neither was I!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

She felt herself cross her arms over her chest just as he did. They realized their mirrored actions at the same time and glowered at each other.

"Wow. This is just adorable, really." BlackStar chuckled from the bench.

"Shut up!" They both yelled. BlackStar laughed harder.

"Can you give us a minute, please?" Maka asked.

"No, he can't. We're playing basketball." Soul said.

"No, _you're_ playing. _He's_ lying around. Besides, haven't you been here since like six in the morning?"

Soul's eyes narrowed. "Tsubaki's been running her mouth hasn't she?"

"She told me you dragged BlackStar away to skip class; so what?"

"What'd you tell _her_?"

"What does it matter?"

"It's none of her business!"

"You're talking to BlackStar about it!"

"Actually, I wasn't!"

BlackStar sat up at the mention of his name. "Everyone needs help from their god once in a while, Maka. Soul might not have said much, other than something about you driving him crazy and getting inside his head and making him say things he didn't want you to know, but omniscient as I am, I was able to figure out what's really going on between you two without Soul telling me anything." He grinned widely.

"And that is?" She asked, dubiously.

"Obviously you're in love with Soul and want to jump his bones and Soul's too cool for that girly shit." He stretched his arms up and folded his hands behind his head.

"BlackStar, you're an idiot." Soul grumbled.

"But any best friend of a god would be irresistible to women." BlackStar's heavy hand landed on her shoulder in mock sympathy. "Don't feel too bad."

Maka slapped his hand away and glared at Soul. "You're both idiots! I didn't want to leave things like that, with us fighting and not understanding each other. But if you'd rather just hate me forever for something I didn't mean to do, then fine."

She turned on her heel, fully intending to stomp away with her trench coat billowing impressively behind her, but Soul's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could take two steps. She heard him sigh deeply.

"For fuck's sake, we can talk! If you think it'll help."

"I don't know if it'll help, but I don't have any other ideas." She said flatly not meeting his eyes.

Soul let her go and turned back to BlackStar, who was currently balancing on two fingers, his feet dangling in the air.

"Beat it, dude. I'll catch you later," Soul said.

The blue-haired Meister smiled, flipping himself easily back onto his feet. "OK. But if you need me to come back and restrain her, you know, if she tries anything, I will. That's what friends are for—keeping the fangirls at bay."

"Don't be stupid." Soul said, but grinned, tossing the basketball at BlackStar's head. He caught it easily and spun it around on his finger before laughing and tearing off down the street like a bat out of hell.

And then they were alone.

* * *

Somehow the two made it to a bench to sit awkwardly and exactly three feet apart from each other without saying a thing. Neither wanted to look nervous or start the conversation first, so Maka spent some time tightening her boot buckles, thinking she might need to kick Soul in the head at some point, and Soul adjusted and readjusted his slouch until it was the exact right degree of Cool Unaffected.

"You gonna say something?" Soul asked finally. He didn't sound impatient, but his voice went up at the end in a way it rarely did unless he was flustered. Maka could tell his moods for the most part from his tone or the slight twitch of his lip. Living and working with The Textbook-Enigmatic Boy took some translation.

"Fine. I'll start." She licked her lips. _Here goes_. "I'm sorry for what I did. I should have tried harder to make you understand that you weren't dreaming."

Soul huffed. "That it?"

Maka took in a deep breath and counted before letting it out. _We will not scream at him. Not until he really, really deserves it. _

"Did you want me to apologize for something else?" Maybe he wanted her to apologize for kissing him. An annoyingly girly twinge of rejection twisted in her gut.

"No, I just, I thought you'd want to scream at me about what I said in there." He rubbed the back of his neck.

He thought she'd be mad at _him_?

"Why would I blame you for saying what you were thinking while you thought you were alone inside your own head? That'd be like me blaming BlackStar for having daily monologues about his own greatness. You couldn't control it."

Soul blinked at her, his eyes a touch wider. Did she say something wrong?

"So you're not mad that I sort of, basically, get off while we Resonate?"

She sucked in a breath and felt her cheeks go up in flames. Wow. This whole talking about sexual stuff with your partner and best friend thing is even harder in person.

"Um, no. I'm not mad. I guess I admitted to weird stuff too."

"And having sex dreams about you? That's OK?"

She swallowed. "We probably don't have to go through the whole list."

Soul nodded. "Right. So, we're cool?"

"Yeah. I'm cool if you're cool."

A pregnant pause doesn't even come close to describing the amount of unsaid, emotionally charged things that hung in the air for approximately three minutes while Maka waited for Soul to drop the whole thing. She knew he would. Soul liked emotional confrontation about as much as Kidd liked asymmetry.

But he could always surprise her.

"I think we need to Resonate."

Maka's head whipped around so fast it sent a shock of pain down her spine. She barely noticed. "What?!"

Soul ran a hand through his hair. His normal cool was wearing off at an alarming rate. He even looked…shaky. _Death if this whole teenage hormones thing wasn't going to reduce them both to shells of their former selves faster than Asura himself._

"When?"

"Now-ish. Before I start thinking clearly again."

"But why?"

"I think you need to know exactly what I'm talking about before you go ahead and agree that you're OK with this."

"But we've done it a thousand times. I know I'm OK with Resonating."

His eyes ticked over to her and the look there—she couldn't describe it other than to say it was fear and a little self-loathing. "Yeah well, normally I hold back."

"You what?"

"My feelings. I hold back my feelings and I try to stay away from yours, you know, to give you privacy."

"You—you can do that?" Maka sat up straighter, the implications of Soul's ability to manipulate their Resonance running through her head. Stein was right! Soul's talents were completely untapped. If they could harness it—

"Hey! Get your ass back on earth, Maka! I didn't say I was going to start testing the whole thing out like some freaking science experiment in Stein's lab. I said I wanted you to know how it felt for me. So you have a clear understanding."

"But if you can control the Resonance rate so easily—" She stood up excitedly.

"Death, woman! Are you not listening? If you're going to stay my partner, you need to know what you're dealing with before you go forming opinions of how impressive I am. You might not like what you feel in there."

Maka felt like laughing. Here Soul was, worried about how she saw him because he had a few errant sexual feelings like any other 17-year-old boy and the reality was, he might just be a prodigy! Hormones shormones!

"Sure, sure. Let's do it." She reached for his hand to pull him up but he yanked it away.

"Hold up a minute, I have a few questions for you."

She sat back down, impatiently twisting her skirt in her hands. "OK. But make it quick. Maybe we can get this done and I can get back to class before it's over."

Soul growled. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Ask!"

"OK, fine! What did you mean in there about thinking about me while you-"

"Soul! I said let's _not_ go back through the whole episode."

"Hey!" He grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. "I answered all your questions completely and honestly _while_ in the privacy of my own head, OK? Your turn."

"Ugh. Do I have to?"

"It couldn't possibly be worse than what I admitted to you."

She let her head fall, bangs temporarily and blessedly hiding her face. "I may think about you in various...states of undress...sometimes when I...do that." _Damn him! I still can't say it!_

Soul let go of her arm quickly.

"But I don't do it on purpose! It's just that I don't see very many other guys' chests and stomachs and arms and things, and yours are nice, so you always just pop up in my head even when I don't want you to and, and...a—are you laughing at me?"

He was. Soul Eater Evans was laugh-out-frigging-loud laughing, holding his sides and howling.

"Hey! I didn't laugh at _you_!"

He stopped to wipe a tear out of his eye. She wanted to strangle him with his hair band.

"I'm sorry but, wow. I never would have thought I'd make Maka Albarn's spank bank. This…is a moment I want to remember forever." He sighed contentedly.

She punched his arm. Not gently. He winced but his grin didn't falter. That grin was much, much too pleased.

"Yeah well, I'm sure I'm in yours too, perv." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are you kidding? You _are_ my spank bank, Maka." She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, expecting another joke. But he was just smiling. And his voice had done this low, gravely thing that made a weird tingle shoot up her spine. She decided to file that information away to worry/agonize over later.

"OK. Your fun time is up. Can we go Resonate now?"

He held up one finger. "One more question."

"OK. Go."

"You kissed me." He said, the smile gone. She tried to look away. His stupid red eyes were normally easy to disregard, mostly because he spent the majority of his time egging her on or making fun of her. But this time they were...earnest.

"T-that's not a question." She stammered out.

"Why?"

Oh Death. That _was_ the question, wasn't it? She could explain away the thoughts, the dreams, the feelings, and so could he. They could chalk all this up to hormones and teenage sexuality and repressed libidos and too little time to themselves. But how could she explain the simple act...her choice...of pressing herself against him in the most pervishly desperate way and—inadvertently—proving that their little dance around the truth was just that, a dance?

"I..."

"There had to have been other ways of waking me up."

There probably were. There must have been. Why why why?

"I don't know?" She squeaked out. She didn't. Not on any level she wanted to admit yet. _Yet_.

Soul smiled crookedly, one long canine poking out. "Yeah, OK. I'll let it go for now."

They sat in silence a moment. Soul's red eyes studied her, like if he just took in all the details of her face in the right order he could figure her out. She felt hot, sweaty under his gaze, but she refused to look like a little baby who couldn't even take a staring contest. But that stupid (OK, yes, sexy, she'll admit it) half smile was making her feel weak and weirdly giggly. And he seemed like he was too close all of a sudden, or was she leaning toward him? Why wouldn't he look away? What was he waiting for?

"And?" She blurted out.

Soul jumped a bit. "And what?"

"Is that enough pervey questions for now? Can we go try Resonating?"

"Um, yeah." He shook his head, then narrowed his eyes up at her as she stood.

"Wait, was that your fist kiss?"

Maka had already taken two steps forward but somehow her leg had grown shorter or the ground had moved a degree, because she stumbled forward and almost face-planted on the court. She spun around laughing.

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous!" She bit her tongue to keep it from babbling. Babbling would give her away. He. Must. Not. Know.

Soul stood up, shoving both hands in the pockets of his jeans and regarding her coolly.

"It was, wasn't it?"

She opened her mouth to form a comeback. It would have been a nasty yet devastatingly intelligent one, too. But instead she sucked in air and sighed.

"Sure, fine, whatever. It was my first. Happy? Can we go?"

Soul grabbed her hand before she could run away. He was grinning widely. His sharp teeth gleamed.

"That's cool. Mine too."

She shivered. I wasn't even frigging cold.


	4. Progression

**Soul Eater is not mine. All the angst and UST in this is definitely mine though. Sorry. I'm weak.**_  
_

**Warning: When I first posted this it had ALL the feels...quite literally. I think I used the word feel 3,800 times. I am so so sorry. I'm raiding the thesaurus tonight.  
**

**Also, there really is plot coming soon. And possibly smut if I can pull that off. Promise!**

* * *

_We will not read into this. We will be cool._ Maka letting him hold her hand and not pulling away and not scowling or producing a book out of freaking nowhere to clobber him with it was Progress. It was a step in a more positive direction for their partnership and their trust in each other and their ability to communicate and certainly had nothing to do with Feelings. No Thing. At All.

"Roof?" Maka asked after he'd zoned out for that intense little denial session for approximately 45 seconds.

"Um."

"So we can Resonate without being interrupted. Or did you have some other place in mind?"

Nope. His brain hadn't started processing language properly since their confession about the mutual first-time kiss. He was currently waiting for it to reboot and come to some kind of conclusion. And he was more than a little worried the conclusion would be that he was the biggest pussy in Death City and possibly Nevada for admitting to a girl whose pants he desperately wanted into that he was 17 and hadn't even so much as lip locked—

_Wait, do kisses that occur inside souls even count in the real world?_

"I'm taking that as a 'no' from the complete zombie stare I'm getting from you right now."

Soul blinked. Apparently it was time to engage. "Hey, Sid would be offended by that remark."

"Soul, I'm serious. If we're going to start testing this out, we need to find somewhere private—"

"Did I say anything about a test? That's not what this is about."

"I know. I know. It's to make you feel more comfortable with me during Resonance, so you don't screw things up like you almost did in Copenhagen. That doesn't mean that while we're in there we can't explore the possibilities." She grinned and punched is shoulder.

Normally he'd play along, but this time her smile pissed him off even as her tone and the unintended implications of her words hit his starving libido like a jolt of electricity.

Watch as Soul mentally smacks himself for chivalrously dissuading her from said exploring.

"No. It's about you _understanding_ what I'm feeling so you can tell me if it's too weird for you. And there will be no exploring, by the way."

Watch as Maka completely ignores his chivalrousness.

"You know, I think the roof really is the best option. No one goes up there this time of day because of the heat. Come on."

She tugged him back toward the school. He didn't resist. On one level, Soul was relieved, even as apprehension grew and multiplied in his mind. The sun had risen in the sky and the blacktop was starting to feel a bit like the surface of a frying pan. Never mind that this little exercise was probably going to test all of his self-control and probably her tolerance for perversity as well. The heat was eroding his willpower.

In the coolness of the academy interior, Maka let go of his hand, pulling away out of instinct and, probably, self-preservation as Stein rounded the corner and gave them his Hello, Children, I'd Like to Dissect You but I'm Resisting That Urge look. Marie and Nygus followed close behind, heads bowed in a heated discussion. _What is that about?_ Soul wondered absently.

Maka waved and smiled at them with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, while Soul, he could feel every crazy white hair on his head standing up with sweat and sand from his speed limit-shattering bike ride to BlackStar's and then his nearly two-hour marathon basketball practice. He probably looked like he'd seen the inside of a car wash sans car…or soap. He resisted the urge to sniff himself.

"Maka, Soul, will I be seeing you in my lab this afternoon?" Stein asked, hands in the pockets of his white patchwork lab coat.

"Of course. We'll be there at two," she said, not even bothering to ask _him_, as usual.

Stein turned toward him, peering over his spectacles—which felt a bit like being watched by that eye of Sauron thing from that movie about the rings that Maka made him watch. "Feeling confident today, Soul?" He asked.

"Uh, sure?" _Just wish I didn't belong in a gym bag right now._

A bit more small talk and the gaggle of teachers passed by; Soul sighed with relief.

Maka was already prattling on again as they walked, yammering about it being just like him to be a closet prodigy and to keep the whole thing from her and she wondered if he would be able to push their Resonance past Genie Hunter and maybe they'd discover some new amazing…blah, blah, blah.

He reached for her hand again to tug her around but she shrugged him off, barely glancing over her shoulder as she powered forward.

"Um, Maka, wait."

"What?"

"I just…I think maybe we should do this later."

"No way. You're not weaseling your way out of this."

_Weaseling_? _Couldn't she pick a manlier animal?_

"Yeah, but, I need a shower, and you should probably get to class and—"

She stopped, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest in a blur of movement. OK, he was sounding the tiniest bit like a massive whiney baby.

"Whatever happened to: 'You need to know what I'm dealing with,' or whatever nonsense you spilled back there?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around nervously. The bell signaling the end of their first class had rung (Maka and he had most definitely missed their first class and were well on their way to missing their second but somehow Maka hadn't noticed). Bucket loads of people were spilling out of classrooms and brushing past them and invading his personal space and Maka was invading his headspace with her green eyes and her Meister voice and he just needed two freaking minutes to himself to collect his thoughts. He felt his scythe form twisting just beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to break free. _Chill. You are cool. You do not have freakouts._

"I know, and we will, I just need to rethink this." _To shower and process and in all probability puss out after I get my head on straight._

But his partner, God bless her, could sense fear like a shark can smell blood.

"No. No way. If you rethink this, you'll just run off and avoid me for another day."

"Well maybe that's what we should do." He whisper-shouted, stepping closer to her and forcing her to tip her head back to glare at him properly. Had he mentioned how much he loved his newfound height?

"I gave you the option of forgetting it already. You're the one who went off about me needing to know your inner most thoughts."

"I just don't think you understand why I said it—"

"I said no. We're doing this." She didn't even have to raise her voice, the Meister command was out and it was a low blow but his weapon blood—or was it the blood in his lower regions?—responded immediately.

He sighed in resignation; she grabbed his hand again (to keep him from so-called weaseling, no doubt) and they took off once again for the staircase on the other side of the main hall.

Of course, seeing as Lady Luck preferred to punch Soul eater in the balls rather than bestow her blessing on him _ever_, who should be coming down the stairs at that exact moment but Patti and Liz? The younger of the sisters—the one with the eyes of a hawk and the self-control of a golden retriever—caught Soul and Maka's twined fingers in 1.4 seconds and proceeded to completely misread the whole thing, her eyes growing wide. He thought about letting go of Maka's hand but hell, the damage had been done. They were now on a collision course with Patricia Thompson's wild imagination.

"Crap. I think she saw—" Maka stilled.

"It's fine. Just…don't make any sudden movements."

Liz waved at them as they neared, obviously intending to speak. For the sake of his sanity, he would have preferred it if Maka had just dragged them both up the stairs and away from this potentially disastrous social interaction. His partner, of course, did the exact opposite.

"Hey Liz, Patti." She'd schooled her tone into something approximating her normal cheeriness, but Soul wasn't fooled. She was as tense as a piano wire.

"We missed you in class. Kid had a fit about how the seating arrangement got all asymmetrical without you two." Liz twirled a bit of her long blond hair around a finger.

To her credit, Liz wasn't making a big deal out of the hand holding thing; maybe it wasn't such a big deal and he could stop freaking out and nearly having a heart attack.

"So, um, where have you two been?" She didn't say it with a suggestive tone, Soul was confident. But apparently that didn't matter to Maka Queen of the Freakouts Albarn. She proceeded to grind her nails into his knuckles.

"Nowhere. Where did you think we were? We haven't been anywhere. Where else would we be but in school?"

Liz narrowed her eyes. "But you weren't in class. We thought maybe you had a meeting with Lord Death—"

"Right! We had a meeting—an important meeting with Lord Death. Why else would we miss class? It's not like we skipped. At least I didn't. I _wouldn't_. Ever. And Soul, I don't let him skip anymore, either. I mean, sometimes he does, but I don't condone it. I would never condone skipping class for any reason, except if Lord Death asks. But you know Lord Death, always…interrupting important class time. You know how it is. " Maka stammered. Soul mentally facepalmed.

"Yeah but see, we asked Kid and he said he didn't know about any meeting today." Patti interjected, waggling her eyebrows; her shit-eating grin nearly split her face in half. "So fess up lovebirds…where were you two _really_?"

Maka's face was already red, now it was approaching combustible.

_Time to clean up this mess before she goes nuclear._

"What she meant to say is we _have_ a meeting with Lord Death, as in present tense, right now, as we speak—a very important, private meeting." He checked his non-existent watch. "Aaand we're running late. Sorry, ladies. Time flies."

He grabbed Maka by the shoulders and steered her up the stairs. Patti opened her mouth to protest but Liz muzzled her with a palm, motioning for them to go. Soul mouthed a silent 'thank you.' And pushed his Meister out of ear shot.

"Death, woman. You looked like you were gonna personally eat Patti's soul, and I don't even think you can do that." He said after they were in the clear.

She grumbled something about nosey sisters and none of their business and just partners and Soul couldn't help but chuckle as they reached the next floor.

"Why does it matter what they think?" He asked.

She didn't face him, apparently content to allow him to steer her. He was also content to steer and content to keep his hands on her narrow shoulders and maybe let his fingers brush her neck just a bit. _Fuck. There goes the self-control._

"I just...don't want them thinking anything's going on between us. This is all...it's nothing. It's silly."

His boots squeaked as he nearly skidded to a halt. _Huh?_

"Then what _would_ you call what's happening between us?" He asked, not sure why he was asking. He couldn't imagine an answer coming out of her mouth that wouldn't be disappointing somehow.

She didn't answer, but he felt her non-committal shrug under his hands. _Nothing? Really?_ Their boots clattered in tandem on the marble but it still wasn't as loud as his heart in his chest.

"I think you and I have different ideas about what nothing means, but, hey, I'm not a walking dictionary." He didn't mean to dig his fingers into her shoulders quite so forcibly, nor did he mean to sound so pissy. When was he going to stop being such a woman about these things?

They reached the blessed roof without colliding into any other potential hazards, but Maka's face still hadn't returned to normal. Soul couldn't decide if she looked like a scared rabbit or a murderous cheetah, her mouth was pursed into a little grim line and her cheeks were still pink like the aftermath of a sunburn.

"Alone at last." He quipped lamely. The door of the roof slammed shut behind them as the hot, dry air of Death Valley came rushing up and over the rooftops below, blasting them both with the sharp, metallic smell of the city and a spray of wind whipped sand. He thought he heard her say something, but it was lost in the air. He let his hands slide down her arms perhaps a bit too slowly. The heat…it was getting to him.

"Let's just get this over with before the whole school knows we're up here." She muttered, pulling out of his grasp and crossing to the edge of the roof to lean against the half-wall overlooking the obnoxiously colored domes of the DWMA and the twisted stone streets of the city below.

He wondered what she was thinking. Normally his better judgment kept him from prying and normally he listened to it. But as he shoved his sweaty hands into his pockets and scuffed the toe of his boot along the concrete, that word kept poking at his consciousness, stinging a little more every second. Did she really think this was all nothing? He wasn't sure what _this_ was but nothing was not it. He chanced a look up at her and caught the tense set of her jaw from the side.

"Hey, what's up? What's wrong?" So much for letting the sleeping rabbit/cheetah lie.

"I just…I don't see why it matters what's going on. It doesn't change anything between us. Because it can't, right? Because we're partners."

Soul was at a loss. He could lie and say he'd never even considered their partnership changing like that. He could assure her that, yes, things would always be the same. But he really didn't like lying to the one person in his life that really mattered.

"Maka," he crossed over to her, pulling himself up on the ledge. The dry wind stuck his already sweaty shirt to his back, but it felt good. And with the amazing view of that bizarre, beautiful, terrifying city below, he felt strangely philosophic. "It doesn't matter to me, OK? If you don't want things to change in our partnership, then I guess I'm cool with that, but I can't promise we won't change as people. People change. It's what they do.

She turned to him. Her face had cooled to its normal tone, but her green eyes still looked hot and dangerous. "Yeah. I know that. I just don't see why it's anybody's damn business but ours."

"It's not." He agreed. He loved it when she got all angry and fierce; it was one of the things he loved the most about her—as long as the anger wasn't directed at him.

"Are you ready to try this, then? Because, if you're worried it will change things..."

She nodded. "I'm ready."

He dropped off the wall and took her hands, leading her away from the ledge.

* * *

_So, you'll let me know if it gets weird?_

_Weird how?_

_You know. Kinky?_

_She giggled._

_And no giggling, for fuck's sake._

_Sorry. She bit her lip but the giggling continued._

_Death, you're a brat. I'm sort of in an awkward position here, you know—being soul baring. Giggling is so not cool._

_I know. Her green eyes were honest but also a bit amused at his discomfort._

_In all seriousness, Maka. I have no idea what this will be like for you._

_You're the one over analyzing this time. I'll be fine._

_Sure?_

_I'll be fine._

* * *

One minute they were holding hands, standing on the roof, braced against the wind, closing their eyes amidst a bit of nervous laughter, and the next they were back—in the Black Room.

"Why here?" Maka asked, the room was unusually dark and she couldn't see Soul yet, but she could hear him playing something dark and soft on the piano.

"Where else would we be? Everything starts here." His low voice carried strangely in the room, echoing as if the space was much, much bigger than it felt. Of course, if the Black Room really was Soul's soul, it had to be spacious and probably mind-numbingly complex, she reasoned.

She stepped out of the shadows, feeling the sway of heavy fabric around her legs and the discomfort of high-heels and sighed.

"You put me in the dress again. I thought we grew out of this."

The black piano materialized out the darkness, ringed in twisted candelabras. Soul stood in front of the keyboard, playing a few notes with one hand. Pinstripe suite, tie, sharky grin—OK, he always looked amazing in a suit. She could admit that much.

"What's wrong with the dress? I love you in that dress." His playing stopped abruptly—apparently he'd caught the unintended _I love you_ he'd just casually blurted out. "Uh. I mean…" His hand immediately went to his hair. It was his own personal tick.

His blush was adorable, but she didn't press it, deciding to sit down on the bench beside him and smooth her skirt over her knees instead.

"Come on, play for me."

He took the out, sitting down quickly and running his long fingers over the keys.

"What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. You know I don't know anything about music."

"I thought you studied."

She sighed, pointing to the piano. "I know that's a grand piano, that those are keys, and that you suck because you never play for me in real life."

"That's mature."

"You're wasting time."

He nodded finally, launching into what she liked to think of as _his_ song—the song he played for her the first time they met. Its disharmony had never made total sense to her but it was beautiful—like a story told in another language but with a tenor and an emotion she knew in her bones. With each note she could tell he was lowering the walls around his feelings, clearing the path for their Resonance to flow cleanly between them.

They were already connected but that warm, familiar buzz in her chest and the dizzying sense of sharing soul space with another living, breathing person had started to grow exponentially. It felt like every note he played made her blood rush faster.

"S-Soul?" She looked at him for reassurance. He nodded, fingers gliding over the keys.

"Just relax. We can stop if you need to."

_I don't…I don't need to_. She let the it overtake her. A swell of sensation rose with his music, breaking through her and over her.

And then they were dancing. Soul's song was still playing in the background, but his hand was also on her waist, his red eyes watching her intently.

"I thought you hated dancing." She huffed. She didn't understand why he needed all these gestures. The piano, the room, the dancing—why couldn't they just Resonate? Maybe it made it easier for him.

"I never said I hated dancing."

"It feels like you're stalling."

"I'm going slow."

"Well, don't."

He sighed, pulling her closer, their hips almost touching. "Fine."

The music grew louder, swirling around her. She closed her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was a hyperawareness of his thoughts—they blew past her, a jumble of words and images. When they'd first resonated, she'd gotten just a whisper of Soul's emotions—some doubt in himself, a little criticism of her brashness as they'd merged in the cemetery that first time, and a wave of respect and admiration. She'd always assumed it was like that for any fighting pair—they only got what leaked through the bond. But Maka was unprepared for what she felt when she finally caught hold of just one strand of that tangle of thoughts and emotions in Soul's head.

It was a memory—of her. She was asleep on their couch, her book open on her chest. She didn't remember it. She'd fallen asleep there just like that so many times. But this was Soul's memory and it was Soul's eyes she saw through and his feelings eddying around her.

_Idiot._ She felt him think. He reached down and pulled the book off her, marking her page with a finger and setting it on the coffee table beside her. His eyes lingered on her bare legs—she'd never really thought about how revealing her sleep shorts were—and she felt the curling ache of desire in his chest.

He wanted her—she would have liked to package that fact up and take it back out into the world with her for a while, revel in its novelty. But he also worried about her. He thought she was too tired all the time and yet ridiculous for staying up late and reading when she had school the next day. He desperately wanted to lie down with her and maybe run his fingers down the skin of her thigh—he imagined her to be incredibly soft.

Instead, he grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over her, switching off the light on the end table. He didn't leave right away, though. He let the darkness surround them. He let himself rest a hand on her knee. He wanted her to wake up. He wanted her to see him looking as he was, but he was afraid of her eyes, afraid to see fear or anger there.

In that moment, Soul of the present took control again—walling his thoughts back up just as she peered closer.

"Hey!" She opened her eyes and saw his glare and the flush on his skin.

"I didn't sign up for a mind-reading." He growled.

Their bodies had shifted closer and she could feel how tense he was in his movements, even within the confines of his soul.

"Stop worrying so much." She purred, realizing suddenly that their heightened Resonance was starting to get to her, making her feel woozy and hot and light headed. And the music was getting louder, making it hard to think.

"You know you're gonna be the death of me." He said. It was not a question. She hummed in agreement, closing her eyes as the music built toward a crescendo.

That was when he realized that she was, in fact, enjoying this-his side of the Resonance, the very thing he'd been so afraid to share-and she felt him realize it. Not a small amount of shock and excitement leaked through their bond. She wanted to pour over this, attempt to analyze it even as her addled mind wanted to slip down into the sensation and get lost in it. She didn't quite understand his feelings—a mixture of heart-pounding tension and elation—but she shared them. That heat in her chest was building, pounding with her heart.

"How are you doing that?" She found herself asking. "How do you let me feel some things but not others?" He shrugged mentally and physically, turning down the Resonance like the volume on a TV. The heat dimmed.

"Hey! I didn't say I wanted you to stop." She didn't meant to sound quite so teasing, but the newfound freedom to feel what he felt amplified through their merged souls made her bold, drunk on courage.

"Not sure if that's wise. I don't know if I can keep us from Resonating higher if we push it, and I think I should keep a lid on that until we know how far we can safely go."

"Are you kidding, Soul? This is amazing! It's…a break-through. We're Resonating at a level…I don't think anyone's ever even approached…" She opened her eyes again and reached out to touch his face. She didn't quite know what she was doing but it seemed like what he wanted and maybe what she wanted. Definitely what she wanted. Soul swallowed thickly but he didn't pull away.

To be honest, she'd never even noticed the walls—his presence had almost always seemed a bit muffled, and even more of late, but they were always fighting, always sparing, always reaching for something, so Soul's somewhat subdued wavelength had seemed less important than what was right in front of her. And with the Black Blood threat, she understood why he'd always been too hesitant to lose control.

Now she understood what he'd been holding back.

Somehow, she'd started to slide her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, enjoying his trepidation and discomfort as it warred with the compulsion to just stand there and let her do whatever-anything at all-so long as she kept touching him. He cleared his throat and grabbed her hands, holding them tightly between their bodies.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no idea, but when I touch you…"

"You're pushing the frequency too high."

"I can do that?"

"You _shouldn't_ do that."

"Aw, come on." She twisted one of her hands away from him and used it to smooth the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, trailing her fingers down his cheek.

He blinked slowly, giving in even as she felt him think—_this isn't right_. And as his reserve melted away, she couldn't completely stifle a gasp as a new wave of it hit her and the music started building again and the last of his walls fell.

The buzz was thrumming in her chest like a nest of bees, sliding down her spine, settling at the base, curling inside her, making her muscles clench and her skin burn, and it was only getting worse the longer it went and the more they touched.

She smoothed one hand down his chest, feeling the hard ridge of his scar through his shirt. He shuddered and their twined souls shuddered with him.

Was she burning? Her vision was growing light, things were blurring around the edges and fading into something like static. She could still feel his hands on her in the Black Room and on the roof at the same time, but her skin was burning where the tips of his fingers grazed her wrists. It _hurt_. And it felt _good. _And something in her wanted more, wanted to climb higher with him.

_Oh, God._

_What's she…I shouldn't be enjoying this…she can't know what she's doing..._

But she did. She knew. He'd let her hands go and she was tracing his lips with her fingers, feeling his pulse under thin skin and his brow growing damp with sweat. She was remembering the feeling of those lips on hers and wondering how they would feel in the flesh and pounding blood of the real world.

"Maka." His voice echoed out of that world. It was a bit of a plea and a bit of a statement of fact. She knew he couldn't stop her, knew she'd have to tell him to stop if she wanted it to stop. He was giving her a warning. Turn back; do not pass go. Truthfully, she was afraid, but she wanted this more—more of them and this feeling and him. It was power and fear and desire all wrapped up in heat and aching and _need_.

_Is this madness?_

She reached for him blindly, no longer able to see past the colors and sensations of their Resonance. And then he was there, pulling her against him in the Black Room and the real world at the same time. His hips dug into hers and his hands were in her hair, tangling in pigtails. And his cool breath was across her face and he was hesitating. He was holding it down, trying to dial back.

"Don't." She heard herself sigh and then he was pressing against her, his lips hard and harsh and his teeth sharp against her mouth, but she didn't care. A wave of something breathtakingly beautiful and painful and _him _shot through her as she felt his weapon soul responding and passing the wavelength back into her. Burning, it was burning. She moaned against his mouth.

_What's happening? _

Her mind reeled. She fisted her hands in his shirt, drawing him closer still, opening his mouth to slide her tongue along his and taste the doubly mind-boggling sensation of _what_ he felt _as_ she was making him feel it.

_Oh, Death._

Every pass, every weave, every time her soul went through him and he passed it back, created an excruciating tension that burned her from the inside out. And rather than making her feel stronger, as their Resonance was meant to do, it was sapping her of everything. She could feel it draining her.

Her thoughts were bleeding out. She was slipping on the stone floor of the roof and simultaneously on the checkered floor of the Black Room, gripping him tight. She couldn't see, couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut, but she knew she needed to sit down and _now_.

She pulled away, hearing and feeling and _knowing _Soul's worry all at once.

"What's going on? Maka, are you OK?"

His low voice sliced through her mind, making her ache. It was enough to nearly send her over the edge.

"S-stop, Soul." She shuddered. "Please."

She felt his complete and under confusion and then his fear and anger with himself as he slowly released their connection. To her dismay and embarrassment, her own wavelength fought the release, tried to hold onto him against her will.

"I can't—you have to—let go, Maka. Maka!" He was panting. She was digging her nails into his arms.

_Why can't I let go? Why don't I want to let go? _With all the strength she had left, she tore her soul from his, crying out as the feeling of emptiness replaced the burning and all that was left was an ache. She slumped against him.

"Maka? Oh, shit, fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I didn't know." He was laying her down on the ground, balling his jacket up under her head, but the cool stone was just perfect, the heat ebbing out of her slowly. "Are you—can you—are you hurt?"

He was stammering again. She felt herself crack a smile. "No, Soul. I'm fine."

When she opened her eyes again and the wobbly real world around her solidified, Soul's terrified eyes were the first thing she latched onto. That and the fact that the collar of his shirt was loose, his lips swollen, and his already crazy hair was matted and standing up in tufts. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You look like shit."

He shook his head at her, not returning the smile. "Yeah, well. Apparently you caught on _fire_."

"Wha—?"

He grabbed her arm and held it up for her to see. Half her sleeve was gone and what was left was charred and tattered beyond recognition. She looked down at herself. Her skirt and boots were smudged, pockmarked with holes and bits of melted fabric.

"I said you caught on fire. _Literal_ fire." His eyes rose to hers again and all traces of what they'd just felt and shared were gone. All she saw was fear.

_So that's not good._

* * *

**Note: Thank you so much for enjoying my crazy mind thoughts and reviewing and being supportive of meh and my first oh lord jesus it's a fanfic. My plot bunnies have ADD and are also on crack, so don't worry, I'll have another chapter up probably this weekend or next. They won't let me sleep otherwise...  
**


	5. Sharp

**Soul Eater is too brilliant to belong to me. I do, however, pay homage by letting my imagination run wild in this venue.**

**A note on how this does not in anyway fit into the canon and I'm sorry:** I seem to have set this in the anime-verse but am happily ignoring Maka's latent weapon abilities and going off on my own tangent. Asura was defeated, however.

**A note on how this was supposed to be up weeks ago and I'm sorry: **This took forever long but I couldn't decide on how much plot to annoy people with. And I deleted it all at least 37 times. I hope you enjoy, regardless of OOCness and minor bending of plot lines and bad grammar. I'm hoping this is even a shade as entertaining as my reviewers are claiming. AND SO MUCH THANK YOUS for the amazing kind words, follows, favorites, and PMs. I hope to never disappoint!

* * *

The setting sun was still grinning, even after every brilliantly fucked up thing that had just gone down on the DWMA roof in broad, blinding daylight_. _Soul shifted further into the shadows outside Stein's lab and out of the bone-dry heat. Normally, the sun's toothy smile lightened his mood. This time his fear and guilt were too sharp and close; he couldn't shove them down deep enough without scraping everything raw. Even the calls of the God-ugly crows perched in Stein's dead trees sounded like a chorus of deranged laughter.

_Why does everything around here have such a screwed up sense of humor?_ He scrubbed his face with his hands—the sickening barbecue smell of smoke and charred cloth nearly made him gag. _None of this is funny._

He distinctly recalled running his fingers through Maka's messy pigtails in astonishment as he'd helped her stand. A film of ash had settled over her hair, but the ends weren't even singed. _Not fucking funny in the slightest._

"Where the fuck is that lunatic?" Soul grumbled under his breath, craning his neck around the corner and down the deserted street. The patchwork doctor was AWOL. He'd checked the teacher's lounge, the nurses' office, even called up Daddy Death Scythe under the guise of needing extra help with one of Stein's assignments. And (after a three-minute ream-out about Soul being a worthless idiot who could never keep up with Spirit's precious genius daughter) he'd learned that Stein was on a special assignment in Hook Cemetery. He would be returning to his lab rather than the school. But that was more than an hour ago and Soul had already worn a groove in the dust of his front yard pacing and waiting.

He wasn't concerned about the doc being gone. It wasn't unusual for him to disappear for hours or days on this or that side mission. If something was unusual in either the scientific or the psychological world, Stein was the man on call. No, what was making Soul's palms sweat and his blood fill with ice was what Maka had said to him on the roof.

_We can't tell anyone. Not—not yet. _She'd been taking deep breaths since they'd broken the connection, like she couldn't get enough air.

_What? Why the fuck not?_

_Because they might make us stop. They might think it's too dangerous._

_It's a freaking fire! We made a freaking fire while we resonated. How is that in any way not dangerous?!_

_This has to be a whole new level of power. Something no one knew was possible. I have to get to the library tomorrow and start researching. Think about what we could accomplish if we master it!_

_ What are you on? This isn't a fucking training exercise. This is scary! This is real as shit! You were fucking burning right in front of me!_

_I'm fine, Soul. In fact, I'm better than fine._

_You don't understand; I saw you—I saw it happening. I could smell it—_

_But I didn't burn. I'm right here. And I feel amazing, like everything is clearer._

_Maka, you aren't making sense._

_Don't you feel it?_

She'd reached out and placed her hand over his chest then, spreading her fingers out and brushing lightly over his scar. He couldn't suppress the shiver or the delicious warmth that had slid through his veins with the pressure of her fingers.

She'd pulled away quickly when he'd sighed.

_I think you're still in shock. Just let me take you to see Stein._

_Whatever this is, Soul, it's too important to trust to anyone else yet, at least until we get a handle on it._

_Do you hear yourself? This isn't like you! You'd never deliberately put yourself in harm's way like this._

_We've never had access to a power like this before._

_Maka—_He couldn't resist cupping her cheek for a just a moment. He'd needed her to see how deep this scared him. But she'd stiffened and backed away, which made no fucking sense but was probably a good thing—maybe her common freaking sense was soaking back in. It still stung.

_I'm fine, Soul. I just need to lie down. We can talk about it tomorrow._

So he'd half-led, half-carried the dazed, shaky girl back inside then and somehow managed to slip her down the stairs and out a back exit without anyone seeing the sorry state of their clothes. They'd missed second period…and third and fourth and fifth through ninth. Most of the students were long gone. Soul and Maka had been Resonating for hours and hadn't experienced even a fraction of the time lapse. Normally time slowed outside the Black Room, this time, it hopped a ride on a demonic express train into the future. Minutes had morphed into hours—another weird fucking twist of events that Soul was not prepared to deal with.

He couldn't get the image of Maka's body, blue-white fire running over her skin, out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her burning in his arms. It felt like a shard of crystallized insanity digging into his gray matter—a hallucination brought on by lust and black blood. It didn't help that that horrifying image was all knotted up with the kiss and the sounds she'd made and the way their Resonance had been so close he could count her heartbeats and feel the throb of blood through her veins.

They'd crossed a line, right? Surely a make-out session on a roof constituted some sort of line crossing. This was probably where they should sit down and talk about things. And he'd tried, as he watched her settle on the bike in front of him—he didn't trust her not to fall off the back—he'd cleared his throat and asked what she thought of all the other weirdness on the roof.

_What weirdness?_

_You know, the part where we made out._

_I think…maybe we should wait...to talk about that. I mean it doesn't seem like the most important thing considering._

She was right. Of course she was being levelheaded and all. But that didn't change the fact that he could still feel her hipbones under his fingers like a perfect melody.

After that she'd drawn her arms close to her chest and did her best to lean away from his body as they rounded the turns. This was also probably wise. They had no idea how their physical attraction tied into the fire and what could set it off again, but that didn't keep him from feeling like a pot simmering on the back burner every time they so much as brushed elbows. And he missed the comfortable way they used to be around each other. It felt a little like something important was dying.

After dropping her off at their flat, cranking the AC and making sure his partner had something cold to drink—she still looked flushed and sweaty—he'd made up some excuse about forgetting his wallet on the roof before making a beeline for Stein's lab. Maka was going to filet his nut sack for going behind her back, but he'd be damned if he let her hurt herself.

"The initial findings are inconclusive, Marie. We can't make assumptions." Stein's aggravated voice echoed off the buildings from approximately half a block away, smacking Soul in the head and forcing him back to the present.

"She went mad, how much more proof do you need? She wore her fingers down to the bone digging in that grave. It has to be some latent effect of Asura's insanity wavelength." Marie's shrill voice followed Stein's.

_Asura. _Soul bit his cheek, drawing a little blood into his mouth. The Kishin had nearly killed him, nearly killed everyone he cared about. If its wavelength was still somehow active—he dug his fingers into his jeans. _It can't be. Maka killed him. I saw it. I felt it. We won._

"There are perfectly natural ways of going crazy, believe me."

"Don't make me feel bad for making an observation. Something else is going on here. I can feel it."

Soul slid soundlessly around the corner of the building, away from direct line of sight, and crouched in the shadows just as their footsteps neared the gate.

"Regardless, we have to wait to inform the children until after Kid returns."

"You shouldn't have sent him into that cemetery alone."

"I did what I had to; we can't have anyone spreading rumors. Panic is its own madness, you know that."

"And Bridget's Meister, Tarou? Have you even spoken to him?"

"No. I've been a bit busy with the autopsy."

_Autopsy?_ Soul sat up straighter.

"He was…he couldn't even cry. He just kept asking if we could save her, begging me, even after I told him she was dead. This 15-year-old boy found his partner alone in an empty grave with her hands word down to bone."

Soul could see them now, huddled in the entryway. The glow of Stein's cigarette lit up the uneven surface of his face and the shine of his scars. He looked nightmarish by design, yet his eyes were wide and full of regret. The demon hammer's were cold, dark. He'd seen that look on Maka before. It was a righteous fury.

"He found her alive." She grabbed Stein's arm and forced him to look at her. "He found her digging, bleeding from her hands. All he could do was hold her back. She died in his arms still clawing at the ground. Tell me that's a perfectly natural madness. Go ahead and convince me."

"Worrying the children will solve nothing."

"They need to know the risks."

"We don't even know what the risks are!"

Soul had heard about enough. He stood up, leaning forward into the light. "So what hypothetical risks are we talking about exactly?"

Marie whirled on him, arm transforming like a flash bomb into the business end of mean-looking hammer. "Soul!"

"Evans. Here to talk about Maka?" Stein took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled a perfect circle. He didn't look alarmed at Soul's entrance. And with the doc's wicked powers of perception, Soul wouldn't have been surprised if he'd sensed him a block away.

"Looks like I'm here to talk about a whole lot of things." He said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Stein smiled, a grimace really, and crushed his cigarette out on the door of his home. "Then I supposed we should get started."

* * *

Unlike Soul, Maka hardly ever remembered her dreams. She was pretty sure she'd had sexual dreams in the past, as she'd woken up on a handful of nights with that same curling ache she'd started to feel around Soul. But they'd always faded quickly, and any familiar faces that may or may not have figured into said dreams ebbed out of her consciousness by the time she stepped into the shower. This one was different.

It started in the school library. She was seated across from Soul at one of the academy's massive, cherry library tables. Soul was all buttoned up in his school uniform, tie perfectly symmetrical, shirt pressed—totally unlike his customary I'm Too Cool for Irons and Shit. He had a book laid open in front of him, and the way his eyes tracked across the page, he even appeared to be reading it_. _That alone alerted her to the improbability of the reality around her. The last time Soul read something for any length of time other than a piece of music, she was fairly certain it had involved a cat in a hat—and not the sexy variety.

Maka blinked and tried not to stare at his long fingers as they carefully turned the pages or the way the light slanting in from the skylights made his eyelashes cast spidery shadows on his cheekbones.

His brow was furrowed. He was concentrating hard, a look of utter incredulity on his face. She could only wonder what literary masterpiece could capture his attention like that. She tried to make out the words on the page without seeming too obvious about snooping, but they blurred and drooped and slithered like living things when she concentrated too hard.

"Soul?" She nudged the edge of the cover with her index finger, meaning for him to turn it over. He looked up and bared his teeth at her like a feral dog. She could have sworn they were longer and sharper looking than she remembered. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm reading. Can't you see that?" His turned his attention back to the book in question, teeth disappearing behind his lips again, but his knee brushed hers under the table, and for some reason the slide of his jeans across the side of her knee made her shiver.

"What are you reading?" She tried to clear her throat and force the butterflies and other winged insects in her chest to _knock it off already it was just a dream_, but they persisted.

"What does it matter? You wouldn't like it." He answered flatly, stretching his long legs out under her chair. He was close enough that his sigh stirred her hair.

"How do you know?"

He scoffed. "I know you."

"I just want to know what books you like. I—I didn't even know you liked books."

"Well, Maka, there are a lot of things you don't know about me. I don't tell you much anymore, remember."

"You said that before, in your dream; but it's not true. I noticed you pulling away. I just—"

She choked on her words. _Was that—? _Somehow his hand had moved to her left knee.

"What are you doing?"

"You just what? Why don't you finish your sentences?" He smirked.

"Because your hand—"

His fingers drifted down to draw circles on the underside of her knee. She swallowed. Was this some joke to him? Was that all it was? She shook her head. _Dream, Maka. Focus._

"I just thought I'd give you your privacy." She finished.

His fingers paused as he seemed to contemplate this. "Maybe I don't want privacy." He slid his fingers higher, toying with the edge of her skirt.

"Wha—um—" She cleared her throat. _Chill._ _You can push him away at any time_, she told herself._ I should then, I really should. _"What do you want then?"

He turned a page with the other hand but didn't answer. His fingers were traveling under her skirt now, feather light across the inner part of her thigh. All her mental energy had been diverted mid-stream to his hand and the slight roughness of his calluses and how they made her feel sort of dirty and yet made her vision swim. Her nerve endings were betraying her, all intently refocusing on the very point of his middle finger as it moved in a lazy figure eight, painting gooseflesh in its wake.

_Why don't you just stop him?_ She didn't want this, right? She couldn't want this.

_It's just a dream. Soul would never. He'd be too embarrassed. He would—_

She couldn't hold back an involuntary "Ah!" as his fingers dipped lower, grazing the edge of her underwear, tracing the crease of her upper thigh.

_Oh my God I actually want this. I want him to touch me like this. What is wrong with me?_

She pulled her chair back quickly, its legs screeching on the polished floor. _Fuck sex dreams. This is not why I'm here!_

"Just tell me what you're reading, damnit!"

"Then tell me why it matters!" He yelled back, slamming the book shut so loud it echoed around the four-story room.

"Let me think. Oh yeah, because we're partners?! We don't keep secrets. At least _I don't._" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Real Soul would have had a nasty comeback to that. Something about how she obviously didn't have any secrets worth keeping because she was boring and a bookworm and a dull flat-chested know it all. Dream Soul just laughed at her.

"You want to know what this is?" He picked up the book and tossed it over his shoulder. It bounced off the shelf behind them, knocking over a stack of books on the floor, and dropped. The spine split as if old and brittle. The pages fluttered and spilled out under their feet.

"What the hell, Soul?" She shot up from her chair to retrieve them but he grabbed her by the wrist.

"You can't read it. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because it's us. That book…it's our story." His grip on her tightened; she could feel the little bones in her wrist bending.

"Why shouldn't I read it then? If it's about us, I want to know."

"Do you really?" He looked up at her. Red eyes regarding her with no emotion.

"Yes."

"Do you even know who wrote it?"

"Well I would." She tried to bend down to grab it despite his vice grip on her arm. Soul blocked her with his upper body, leaning down, and picking up a page at random from the floor.

"You sure you want to know?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you know, I'm sure I can handle it."

He shrugged, sliding the page across the desk face up.

It was impossible that he would know which pages were which without looking. It was a dream. She knew that. But her bastard heart was still pounding as she peered closer. And there it was, handwritten rather than typed; the name sprawled out in graceless, uneven form.

_Medusa_

* * *

Maka woke slowly, pulling out of the mud of her subconscious inch by inch, gripping the sheets and willing Souls' eyes and those words away. _Dreams don't mean anything._

The pale light outside her window confused her. Was it really morning? And where was her partner? She sat up, casting out her perception until she saw the faint glimmer of his wavelength through the wall separating her bedroom from the kitchen. He was asleep…at the kitchen table.

_Idiot_. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to fall asleep in random—most would say uncomfortable—places, but the idea that he'd been hunched over a table all night, most likely worrying about her, inspired a twinge of guilt.

She grumbled her way out of bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower. There was zero chance of falling back asleep after _that _dose of weird, so she figured she could at least make him some breakfast and tea and get a head start on the homework Tsubaki had graciously (read: ulterior motive) dropped off for them.

She thought of her best girl friend as she poured strawberry body wash into her palm and lathered up her arms. _Poor Tsubaki_.Maka certainly wasn't making it easy for her friend to win this apparently endless list of bets with BlackStar. She recalled the weapon's eye roll when she'd insisted that nothing new had transpired with Soul. While Tsu did have that infuriatingly calm way of all-out grilling you until you popped open like a kernel of corn, Maka couldn't risk the gossip. Even if something new and…challenging…was happening with Soul, she preferred to let it evolve on its own, without prying eyes and flapping gums. So she kept her mouth shut about all things combustible and make out related even as Tsubaki pursed her lips in annoyance.

_Seriously nothing? How could nothing have happened? Did you erase his mind or something? _She whined. _You gotta give me something!_

Who knew Tsu was such an little voyeur? Maka had smirked at her friend's disgruntled face, but nothing was said that might further endanger her comfortable relationship with Soul-nothing that hadn't already happened, anyway.

In her bedroom, she pulled her school uniform up and over the still damp skin of her hips and wondered if Soul had managed to find his wallet. It was with no small amount of discomfort as she tied her pigtails that she realized how much she missed him, _already. _

She mused over this new level of preoccupation all the way down the hall, trying to remember all the things that annoyed her about her partner in a last-ditch effort to summon her sanity back, until she ran smack into a pair of ridiculously large breasts.

"Maka!" Blair squealed, wrapping her up in cleavage hug. "Blair was worried about you!"

"Mrmm offay."

"What, honey?"

"Kanck eeeth."

"Oh!" She released her quickly, holding Maka out at arm's length and grinning like the Cheshire she was.

"Are you feeling better?"

Maka nodded.

"Soulie said you were sick last night."

"Yeah. I was a bit."

"Are you sure there isn't anything _else_ you want to discuss?" Blair crossed her arms over her chest slowly, golden eyes narrowing. _The hell?_

"Um…can we maybe talk later? I have to make Soul some breakfast before school."

Blair held up a hand to halt her exit, tail swishing. Maka sighed.

"I'm just tired. We both are."

"Tired hmm? Up late?" Her grin turned feral.

"Uh...I suppose. Comes with the whole Death Scythe and Scythe Meister thing."

"Then it couldn't be because...oh, I don't know, you and Soul are doing the nasty in his head?"

_Crap_._ Crap. Crapola._

Maka knew her eyes had probably gone planetary-sized at that moment, but she steadied her voice and seriously contemplating a buying a big smelly dog to chase her roommate out of the house.

"What are you talking about?" Maka backed up a hair.

"You _know. _That whole vibrating…thing…you do together."

_Vibrating?! Oh! She means Resonating. Gah._

"But I had no idea you could even do that while…doing that—and it's not safe!" The cat shuddered. Maka put a hand on her shoulder.

"Blair, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"I'm worried about you two. You're still just kittens. I mean I knew it would happen eventually. You two are like gasoline and matches around each other sometimes, but you're only 16, Maka! What would your father say?"

Ugh. Talk about a punch to the gut.

"I don't know what you think we're doing—"

"Sex! Blair can smell it in the air!"

"..."

"I know you probably haven't—yet—all the way. At least not out in the real world. But Soul's been carrying a torch for you for ages, Maka, if you push that boy too far-"

"You're insane." Torch? Soul? Not unless he was planning on setting fire to Maka's encyclopedia collection.

"Why else would he be reading about naughty sex Resonance all night from the professor's book? Honestly! What kind of school are you two attending?"

_Book? _Maka's heart fell into her stomach, mingling with stomach acid. She felt like throwing up. _It couldn't be. It can't be the same._

"Professor's Stein's book?"

"Said his name on the inside cover."

"Stay here." Maka ordered between her teeth, pushing roughly past the magical cat, who growled something about having to leave for work and _this discussion isn't over Maka Albarn._ She ignored it. She'd worry about magic cats and privacy issues later.

_He went to Stein. I can't believe he went to Stein! Actually I can believe it, the traitor! If he would just stop being the hero for two frickin' seconds. Oh, death, but if the doctor knows then my father—_she nearly stumbled as she rounded the corner into the kitchen and the early morning light scattered through the blinds at her.

She was glaring down at Soul's sleeping face before she had time to collect herself and perhaps plan a course of action that didn't involve the spine of her Norton edition of _Shakespeare._

But he did look completely adorable when he slept. How had she never noticed before? Well, maybe she _had_ noticed. His face was pressed into one long arm slung over the kitchen table, a cup of long-cold tea sitting precariously close to the edge. The book in question was open under his elbow. He was probably drooling right onto the pages.

She restrained herself from yanking him up bodily by the hair. Instead, stepping toward him and brushing his bangs away from his forehead gently, she called his name.

"Hey, Soul?"

He grunted, shifting in his seat, his head sliding down toward the pages. She knew reconnaissance was a good initial tactic; murder was only logical after one collected enough evidence.

"Here, let me take this so you can sleep." She cooed, grasping the edge of the book and pulling—too quickly. Soul sputtered awake, blinking and grabbing her arm reflexively in much the same way that he had in the dream. She squeaked, remembering the other things he'd done with his fingers.

"The hell, Maka?" He groaned—half awake but fully pissed. He tugged, she tugged back. There was an intense seven seconds where he was half awake and yanking her toward him in confusion and she was pulling back on the book in anger. Their foreheads knocked together painfully.

"Ow! Let go of me." She ordered.

"Let go of my book!" His hand slid down to her wrist.

"Let me see it!" She yanked.

"What? Why?" He yanked back.

"Because you—you're—you—you lied!" She gave one final tug as his eyes went wide. He let it go with an exasperated exhale, leaning back in his chair. She stumbled away.

With the book clasped against her chest, heart beating a samba in her ears, she suddenly felt foolish, even though Soul's guilty look told her Blair's intel was right. He'd gone to Stein behind her back.

"Fine. I lied. Go ahead and chop me. I still did the right thing."

"Right how? Now our professor—and _Blair_, by the way—both know about what's been happening with us."

And she wasn't sure who she was more frightened of—Blair and her motherly meddling or Stein and his scalpels.

"We need help with this."

"Like hell! I can handle it!"

"You don't even know what IT is!"

"And you do?

They made daggers with their eyes at each other until she remembered the evidence in her hands.

"What did he even give you?" She peered down at the chapter title he'd been drooling on.

Sexual Attraction Among Meister/Weapon Pairs and its Affect on Resonance. She swallowed thickly.

"What is this?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh. I—"

"You TOLD STEIN ABOUT THAT?!"

"Not exactly!"

She threw the book back at him, intending to hit his head, but the damned scythe dodged it in a blur of movement. Had he always been that fast?

"Explain. Now."

He sighed, letting his elbows slide across the table as he raked his fingers through his hair. It bristled until he faintly resembled an albino porcupine. _He is not cute. We are mad._

"I told the doc about what happened to you on the roof. I told him we Resonated in a really…weird, sort of physical way…and that it made you catch on fire but not actually burn."

She tapped her foot. "And?"

Soul looked away guiltily. "He wants to run some tests before we try it again."

"And that's what I was afraid of!"

"He's right, you know. We lucked out the first time. Next time around you might actually get hurt."

"Oh for Death's sake, Soul. I 'might' get hurt every day in this job. It's what we do."

"And I protect you. That's what _I _do."

"You're my partner, not my frigging body guard. We'd both be so much better off if you'd get that through your thick skull!"

His eyes narrowed and he up stood slowly. "Good to know you've got me all figured out."

"Soul, don't."

He rounded the table and stepped toward her. "Don't what? Make you uncomfortable by being honest? One of us has to be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm scared, but I'm not afraid to admit it. Unlike _you_."

"I'm not scared!" _I defeated Asura. I nearly watched you die twice. Nothing scares me anymore._ But that wasn't true. Because she was shaking right now and not with anger but because he'd gotten so close all of a sudden.

"Yes you are."

"Of what then?" She challenged him.

"Of what's happening with us." He said, reaching out and sliding her pigtail through his fingers. "Between us."

Somehow he'd backed her into the counter and she couldn't help leaning back on it for support even though there was still an arm's length between them. The floor felt too soft, untrustworthy. Like she might fall through it with a wrong step.

"OK. Maybe I am afraid. I just…I…what if Stein says its us? The problem is us? What if he says we shouldn't Resonate anymore? That it's too dangerous? What kind of partners will we be then? We won't even be able to fight." She didn't realize she was crying until she saw Soul's eyebrows shoot up and then a look of disbelief wash over him. She angrily wiped her cheek on the back of her hand.

"You're a massive idiot, you know that?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. She squeaked from the shock of suddenly being pressed into the warmth of his chest. But then his arms went around her and she noted how her head fit perfectly under his chin and how she could hear the beating of his heart through his rumpled shirt.

"You know that'll never happen. I won't let it." His voice rumbled through his skin.

For some reason, his utter confidence made her heart do an annoying flutter in her chest. She wanted to slide her arms around his waist, press her nose into him, and breath him in, but her hands were pinned between them. It was just as well. She didn't want to be weird.

"I'm sorry for yelling." She sighed against him. He chuckled. His breath was warm on the top of her head.

"You should be, woman."

_What an ass!_ She gave a halfhearted squirm that only served to knock their hips together pleasantly.

"Hey! Chill a minute. Can't a guy cop even like _one_ feel for all the shit he's had to deal with lately?"

She craned her face up to glare at him and that lazy, horribly sexy smirk was back. All the insults she had prepared sizzled out before she could form them into sounds. Was this the new Maka? Able to be completely disarmed by one stupid, crooked smile from her weapon? Her face burned.

"Don't look at me like that." She mumbled, though she couldn't manage to look away herself.

He seemed amused at the demand, leaning closer, breath fluttering her bangs and tickling her face. He smelled like tea and mint toothpaste. And there it went, her stupid heart pounding again. "Like what? Like this?" The grin widened.

"Like you think you've gotten away with something. You haven't. I'm still mad." Soul laughed, letting his forehead rest against hers, and closed his eyes.

"Yes my Meister."

"I'm serious. You shouldn't have—"

Two inches. That was all it took for him to hit the mute button on her sane mind. A ninja move of two inches and the press of his lips—smooth, and sliding, and hungry.

She responded too quickly. The last vestiges of her better judgment told her so. But the feel of the breath from his lungs ghosting over her face and down her neck was a delicious, alien, unknown thing that sparked a marathon of tingles.

It was those traitorous nerve-endings from her perverted dream mind—they'd conned her brain cells into caring for nothing but the feel of him opening her mouth with his tongue. It was like mind control or an all-out lobotomy. Her sorry excuse for a brain didn't even allow her to stifle a gasp as he leaned into her. It didn't even fight her tiny moan as he bit her lower lip and sucked it into his mouth. Her whole body felt raw, exposed.

_We shouldn't be doing this._ Some still coherent neural pathway to sanity sparked then fizzled.

He pulled back, eyes heavy lidded, gasping a little for air.

"Did you?" She asked.

"I heard that."

"Does that mean we're?"

"How the fuck?"

They were Resonating. No Black Room. No piano music. But there it was—the heat and the terribly pleasant vibration of his soul where it slid along hers. She could even feel the feather-light touch of his mind inside her own. They hadn't gone very far into it, not in that dangerous way they had on the roof, but they'd done it. Without trying. She supposed Stein would be pleased. They were officially off the plateau.

"We should—"

"Yeah." He dropped his hands, stepping back. But the Resonance held taught, humming around her. Even the heat from his body an arm's length away made her tremble.

"Why aren't we stopping?"

"I'm trying." His hands were in fists at his sides, his jaw clenching.

She tried to feel for her own soul, it's unique imprint on the world. She tried to peel it away from the tangle of sensations and emotions that bound them to that spot. But the knot was tight and every time she tried to pull it only made her want to move toward him again. When he pulled on his own soul she felt it tighten and twist in her chest.

"Gah." He groaned. "What is this?"

She didn't know. She couldn't think straight. She thought she wanted him to touch her again. Just once. For science.

"I think…we can...we can work through it. Just go with it for now."

He shook his head quickly.

"Why?"

"Does fire ring any bells?"

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking but decidedly not wreathed in flame.

"I'm not smoking yet."

"Still. Bad idea."

"Come here." She whispered, holding out a hand.

"Shouldn't."

But she could feel his want in the space between them, and it was palpable and intoxicating. If she concentrated she could even see the way their souls were pulsing in tandem. She knew his wavelength was reaching back out to draw them closer and that hers was reacting in much the same way. Later she'd be appalled at herself, for being so weak, but just then she could only reach for him.

"Please."

He sighed, an explosion of breath and gritted teeth, tugging her close again. His head fell to her shoulder, lips on her neck rather than her mouth—a chaste kiss at first but the shock of it left her mind reeling. She dug her fingers into his hair to hold him there. He only made it worse letting his teeth and tongue graze her skin, igniting a lightening storm of gasps that were partially his name.

"Fuck, Maka. Don't make those sounds." He growled against her ear.

_Why?_

"Because you're making me do things I shouldn't."

_So?_

He captured her mouth again and his hand smoothed down over her skirt and her bare thigh, hooking his fingers under her knee and pulling it up to his hip, holding her there as he pushed tighter against her. The edge of the countertop bit into her back. She dug her nails into his shoulders until he whimpered.

Somewhere deep in his soul she could just make out that infernal black piano, the notes were faint but fast and growing in tempo. Soul was—probably not by choice—letting his walls down again. A delicious heat bloomed in her chest and ran down her arms, swirling inside her. But this time she didn't want to stop. She wanted to see what lay on the other side of this madness.

Unfortunately Blair had other ideas.

"Hey! I said THAT'S ENOUGH!" Someone was shouting and then something wet and cold and heavy hit Maka in the side of the face, running down her neck and soaking her uniform. Soul threw himself away from her with a cry.

They were both drenched. Blair, God bless her perfect timing, was standing in the kitchen with a second cup of water at the ready, eyes like big gold saucers in her face. The first cup was on its side at her feet.

Everyone was breathing weird. Everyone was shooting disturbed looks at each other. But somehow they'd broken the Resonance.

"Wha—what are you doing home already?" Maka asked, panting and leaning on the counter for support.

"Already? Maka, it's afternoon!"

Two disbelieving pairs of eyes shot up to the window and sure enough the afternoon sun was overhead and the buildings were casting long shadows in the heat.

Maka let her legs go and slid to the floor. They were useless anyway. Soul ducked down to grab her, but she waved him off as the cold water hit the backs of her thighs.

"You're um…you're steaming." Soul pointed to the rising cloud around Maka's legs. His face was flushed.

She didn't even have to look at herself. She already knew—could feel the slight sizzle of the water on her skin. She hadn't quite caught on fire this time, but it'd been close. Her eyes met his but he looked away before she could read him.

"This is much worse than I than I thought." Blair whined, tail twitching and curling around her legs. "I don't know much about your Resonating business, but I don't think it's supposed to turn the kitchen into an oven."

"You see? It's bad when even the family pet can see how fucked up this is getting." Soul said, falling into a kitchen chair.

"Getting?"

"Well if we'd gone to Stein back when I said!"

"_Well_ if you'd been open about your weirdness from the beginning."

"_Well_ if you'd stop being such a fucking tease."

"_Well_ if you'd stop touching me!"

"I didn't see you putting up much of a fight back there little Miss Moans A Lot."

"Screw you!"

"You know, under the circumstance, that's looking more and more likely."

That's when they heard the telltale crackle of an otherworldly phone call echo down the hall. It was the mirror in the bathroom. An eerily chipper voice followed.

"Maka, Soul, you missed your plane! Why haven't you left for Italy?"

Maka jumped at the sound of the death god's voice coming from her bathroom.

"Shit! Soul! Is that—?"

Soul just dug his face into his arms and sighed. "Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you. We have a job. Pack a bag."


End file.
